The Riders
by Lady of Em
Summary: What if there was a secret race of people nobody knew about? What if the leader of those people had been asked by Frodo to accompany them on his quest? Strider is suspicious of this newcomer. Legolas/OC Fiction eventually.
1. Prologue: The Beginning

**Prologue: The Beginning**

**Rain poured down in bucketfuls from the swollen black clouds that spilled across the overcast sky like ink staining a precious document. Lightning crackled and ripped through the clouds, illuminating the sky for a brief moment, tasting the earth momentarily with its fiery fingers, then retreating back into the safety of its stormy fortress. Thunder rumbled nonstop in the sky, sounding like a stampede of horses plunging across the skies. Mud churned beneath four Hobbit feet as they scampered, breathless, down a seldom-used path into a thick glen. The rain soaked their cloaks, making them cling to their small bodies like a second skin. **

**They paused when they were in sight of a small house built into a little hill. Instead of the traditional Hobbit circular door, it was a solid rectangle of oak wood, sturdily set into the hillside. Two windows were carved into the earthy wall and lamplight shone out, casting bright squares of light onto the dark black ground. Frodo ran forward, followed closely by Sam and the two inseparable friends, Merry and Pippin. Frodo threw back his hood and allowed the rain to drum onto his dark curly hair. Sam nudged his friend's shoulder, speaking loudly over the noise of the summer storm. "Are you sure this is such a good idea, Mister Frodo?" **

**Frodo squared his shoulders. "She's perfectly wonderful, Sam, and she can protect us." **

"**Me mam says she's a witch," Pippin offered. "Mayhap it's not such a good idea, Frodo." **

**Frodo ignored them and knocked on the solid oak door with his knuckles. There was the unmistakable sound of a bolt being drawn back and the door opened. There, framed in the doorway was the most beautiful woman any of the Hobbits had ever seen. She had long golden hair and steely gray eyes with a curvaceous figure. Her smile was grim. **

"**Come in, little masters. I've been expecting you." she said quietly. They all entered and stood in the hallway awkwardly, dripping water onto the stone floors. She showed them the hooks by the door and they gratefully stripped off their drenched cloaks and hung them on the hooks. They had to stand on tiptoe because everything was human-size. **

"**What can I do for you, Master Baggins?" the woman asked in her low voice. She fingered her amulet around her neck - it was a huge wolf claw, intricately carved with dozens of raised grooves and ridges. It was supposed to cast good luck and a slight healing charm, although Frodo had always suspected it was more then that. **

**Frodo took a breath. "I need your help." he said. Cautiously he reached into his breast pocket and took out the brilliant gold ring. It shone dully in the firelight. The girl gave a snarl of disgust and closed Frodo's fingers over it. **

"**Put it away, Frodo!" she warned. "Don't ever take it out again unless you're throwing it into a pot of molten iron." **

"**I know," Frodo said softly. "Ganandalf told me a little bit about it." **

"**Then you should know better then to take it out when there is evil abroad." the girl said, glancing hastily out of the window. **

"**Please, Accalia," Frodo begged. "I need your help. We can't make it to Bree alone. I need someone to help us, to protect us. You're the only one who knows these woods like the back of your blade. Please, Accalia." **

**Accalia bit her lower lip, watching her friend plead with her. Then she sighed. "Frodo Baggins, you always were one for getting into trouble. Give me a few moments. I need to fetch my things."**

**They followed her into her bedroom, which was sparsely furnished with only a bed, a large chest at the foot of her bed, and a wardrobe in the corner. She opened the wardrobe and took out a thick oilskin traveling cloak which she wrapped around her shoulders and fastened with a dull ivory clasp. Accalia kicked off her slippers and laced up her boots tightly, which were leather and lined with some kind of fur. Then she went over to the bed and rooted around underneath it for a minute, and withdrew a pack. She rolled two blankets together and tied it firmly on top of the pack, then began stuffing clothes into her sack. A loaf of bread, three apples, and two canteens of water were added as well, along with a tiny packet of some kind of powder. Then she opened the chest and the Hobbits gasped in surprise.**

**Inside the chest was a pair of swords, identical and shining. Both of them were sharp and gleaming wickedly, curved slightly at the tips and they had two shining blue gems set into the pommel. She took them out and buckled them onto her belt, sheathing them in black leather sheaths. When she turned around to face the Hobbits, she was almost unrecognizable. Pippin whistled.**

"**You look like a war hero, Accalia!" Merry said. She took a dagger from underneath her pillow and slid this into her sleeve. Then she glanced at Merry.**

"**Thank you, Meredith. As a matter of fact, I am." she said, then went to the doorway again. The Hobbits reluctantly donned their soaked cloaks again and headed out into the storm. **


	2. Chapter One: Strider

A/N:

****This is my first fanfiction. I plan on finishing this story before I write anything else, but if a plot bunny bites me I just might have to write it down. I hope you enjoy this story. This how the Lord of the Rings would have gone if there was an entire other race involved. This story answers questions that have been nagging at me for some time, such as: Why were the ents so reluctant to join in the battle of Middle Earth? Why was Sauron out in the open when he was killed? If there were thousands of Orcs living natively in Middle Earth, why didn't Sauron use those to defeat the Men?****

Summary: Frodo had a friend called Accalia Ravenheart. He knows she is a skilled swordsman, a good tracker, and a beautiful woman, but he doesn't know she is royalty to the entire forest. When he begs her to accompany them on his quest, she reluctantly agrees. They arrive at the Prancing Pony and meet Strider. He is smitten. She is suspicious. Will love flare between the two unlikely heirs, or will they end up fighting against each other?

Disclaimer: I own Accalia Ravenheart. Everything you recognize is owned by J.R. and J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not making any money off of this, I am merely posting these stories to entertain my readers. Please enjoy them.

Rating: T for some less-then-flattering descriptions. It will be upped, however, in later chapters.

Chapter One: Strider

He propped his muddied boots against the solid oak table, which was scarred by hundreds of imprints of frosty beer mugs. A rough black oilskin cloak was wrapped loosely around his shoulders, and his dark green hood was pulled low over his face, casting his handsome, roguish features in shadow. His pipe trailed a thin line of smoke, and he drew in deeply, relishing the faintly bitter taste of his tobacco, flavored by the earthy taste of pine. One gloved hand tapped slowly on his muscular thigh - the only betrayal of his impatience. Inwardly he was a fuming mass of frustration. The ranger had been waiting for almost three days for the Hobbit to arrive - Ganandalf had spoken of two Hobbits, perhaps a few more, but even with such a small group, the traveling should be less then difficult. Unless they had encountered the Nazgul on their way in…He dismissed these thoughts easily, turning them over like a dead leaf.

Suddenly the door flew open with a bang, letting in a shower of damp summer rain and a rumbling clap of thunder. Four small figures tumbled in, falling head over heels among each other. All of them wore hoods and two of them carried walking sticks. Behind them, a tall, graceful figure stooped and helped one of them to his feet. The others disentangled themselves and stood up, brushing themselves off awkwardly. One of the Hobbits - the one who had been helped to his feet - pulled back his hood and revealed a simple Hobbit face. He was handsome, in a delicate way, with dark curls and a clean profile. Another Hobbit, the one who was standing rather close to him, copied his movements and tucked his hood around his neck. A homely, simple face came into view, surrounded by strawberry-blonde peach fuzz and sandy hair that curled lightly. The other two Hobbits had shrugged themselves out of both their hoods and cloaks, hanging them on a hook by the door. They were alike as two peas, relatively the same height with identical mischievous grins.

Then the slim figure who had entered with them threw back her hood, and Strider's breath caught in his throat.

She was exquisitely pretty, with beautiful honey-colored hair that was drawn back and plaited neatly. A few loose strands of hair had escaped their confinement and had framed her face prettily. She slipped easily out of her cloak, hanging it reluctantly next to the smaller cloaks that had joined the rapidly growing pile. Her black leggings were patched - albeit neatly - at each knee. Her leather boots were laced tightly, and lined with some soft, fluffy material Strider could not identify. She turned to him, and he saw a pair of steely gray eyes that carried no mercy, no hint of gentleness. Her face was drawn and weary - her very stance bespoke of a hard, battle-torn life that had given her no warning or a second chance. The woman wasted no time on him - she merely scanned the crown for potential threats, and then sat at a scarred table with the tidy group of Hobbits.

He caught the low tones of them, caught their names - Underhill, which held no ring of truth about it. These were the only Hobbits he had seen all week, and, if the old wizard's information were true, the youngest one would be called Frodo Baggins. Ganandalf had offhandedly mentioned a partner by the name of Samwise Gamgee, but the gray-bearded old fool had never mentioned a pair of attention-seeking Hobbits who were slurping down ale as fast as they could. Frodo, if that was his name, was watching them with an expression of mild distaste. Strider's green eyes flicked over to the young girl who was sitting at the table. Her hand kept straying to the hilt of a knife that was slotted into her leather belt, mostly when the coarser louts whistled suggestively at her. She ignored them with the practiced ease of a woman who knows she is considered pretty by men and wishes to be left alone.

Sam leaned closer to their escort, murmuring in her ear. "That man over there has done nothing but stare at you ever since we came in," he warned her.

"Thank you, Samwise," the woman whispered back. "But as for your warning, it could allude to any one of the men who are currently drinking themselves into oblivion."

The portly Hobbit shrugged. "Point taken," he muttered, sitting back in his chair. The woman raised an eyebrow at the cloaked man in the corner, dismissing him with the supreme air of a woman born into nobility. She lifted her chin defiantly, just a fraction, daring Strider wordlessly to try anything.

Merry and Pippin, for of course it was they, were relating a highly colored version of their travels to Bree. An uncouth looking man asked an indistinguishable question, which was masked under the noisy din of the tavern, but Pippin's answer was loud and clear. "Sure, I know a Baggins!" he cried cheerfully. "That's him over there. Frodo Baggins. He's a second cousin on my mother's side, once removed, and a first cousin on my father's side, but twice removed."

Frodo's eyes widened, and he lunged for Pippin's elbow. "Pippin!" he hissed in his friend's ear. The tipsy Hobbit turned unexpectedly, catching Frodo off guard and sending him sprawling to the floor. The ring Frodo had been fondling was thrown up into the air. A wave of evil - so heady and tangible that Strider sat up - washed over the whole bar. By an almost unexplainable twist of fate, the ring slid neatly onto Frodo's outstretched hand.

The small Hobbit vanished without a trace.

The woman who was traveling with them stood up abruptly, her beautiful features marred by a disgusted scowl. She knelt to the floor and reached for the spot where Frodo had lain, hauling something upright. Then Frodo reappeared again, his face pale and sweaty. The tiny knot of onlookers who had witnessed the spectacle were already turning away, still in the grips of boredom. Strider took his boots off the table and strode over to where the woman was still kneeling next to the Hobbit, speaking in low, anxious tones. He seized Frodo by his hood and jerked him to his feet then half-dragged him down the hallway.

"What do you want?" Frodo sputtered, freeing himself from Strider's hard grip. Strider tossed back his hood, revealing a handsome, ruthless face. Stubble coated both of his cheeks, and his onyx eyes were hard and flashing.

"A little more caution from you. That is no trinket you carry, Hobbit." Strider growled.

"I carry nothing!" Frodo protested, taking a step backwards.

"Indeed? I can not be seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely - that is a rare gift," he snarled. Then he took a step forward, closing the gap between the tiny Hobbit and himself. He glowered down at the Hobbit, but his expression softened at the terrified look on his face. "Are you frightened, little one?" he asked, his voice low.

Frodo nodded once, rapidly. "Yes." he said.

"Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you." Strider said menacingly.

Behind them, the door banged open, rebounding off the wooden wall and shaking violently. Strider whirled around, his hand flying to his sword on his hip, but a blade was already at his neck. The blonde woman who had accompanied the little band was standing in the doorway, a pair of gleaming silver swords in her hands. They were crossed over his neck, both points jabbing him slightly behind each ear. Strider held his hands up slowly.

"Courage, little miss," Strider murmured. "I am not here to harm you or your companions."

"Rubbish." the girl spat. Her voice had a soft, peculiar lilt to it, accenting every word with a twist Strider could not identify. The tone of her voice was low and silky, like a velvet ribbon being stroked across damp skin. "If you mean no harm, step aside, Ranger."

Strider stepped to one side as Sam, Merry and Pippin thundered up the stairs. Sam looked from the woman to Strider, then put down his fists. The girl, never taking her eyes - nor her blades - off of Strider, motioned for Frodo to come over. He did so, ducking behind her like a child hanging onto his mother's apron strings. A grin twitched at the corner of Strider's scruffy mouth.

"Put down your swords, miss," Strider said quietly. "Ganandalf sent me here to protect you."

The blades trembled just a fraction - her steel gray eyes flickered - then the blades were lowered and sheathed neatly into her scabbards. "How do I have proof of this, Ranger?" the woman asked derisively.

"Only that I am waiting for a Hobbit by the name of Frodo Baggins, and his guardian, Samwise Gamgee," Strider said. "The old wizard said he would meet you here, did he not?"

There was a heavy silence, and the pretty girl averted her eyes. "He must have been delayed," she said with that strange accent. "Otherwise he would have met us. I am sure of it."

"He made no mention of you, however," Strider said, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you, maiden?"

Her gray eyes flared dangerously. "Do not speak to me in such an insolent tone, Ranger," the girl spat. "I am Accalia. Underestimate me and it will cost you your life."

Strider's keen ears pricked up. It could have been his imagination - stress did strange things to the brain - but he could have sworn he heard the scream of a horse from somewhere on the outskirts of Bree. Accalia's eyes widened, and she sniffed the air in a doglike fashion. Then she threw Frodo to the floor like a sack of potatoes. "Get down, ring bearer," she said. "And you, Samwise. Meriadoc and Peregrin, shut up and do as I say before I lose my temper." She made sure all of the small Hobbits were lying on the floor, then went over to the window, crouching low. Her gray eyes peered out the grimy windows and Strider heard her inhale sharply.

Standing outside the inn were five horses - all of them as black as the night itself. Huge and sinewy, the beasts stood there like five bearers of death. Blood - fresh blood - stained their hooves and their flanks were damp with sweat. White foam bubbled at their mouths, and their eyes gleamed a devilish shade of red. Mounted on them were five horsemen, swathed in black clothes from head to foot. Gauntleted hands gripped the bridles tightly, and their feet were clad in metallic boots. Hoods hid their faces, but no breath clouded the air before their mouths. They were the Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead.

"Five." Strider said grimly. "Where are the other four, I wonder?"

"Keep wondering, Ranger," Accalia muttered. "They'll not show themselves to you unless you carry the ring."

They heard the rasping of metal against the floorboards as the five horrors mounted the stairs. They moved with an eerie, silent grace that reminded one of a panther about to strike. The five of them positioned themselves around each bedside and plunged their swords into the bulges underneath the covers. To their surprise, there were no screams, no muffled grunts, not even the satisfying crunch of metal slicing against flesh. All at once they peeled back the blankets to reveal nothing but tattered pillows and slashed mattresses. Unearthly shrieks rent the summer air, tearing through the rafters and sending chills down Accalia's spine. They fled, mounting their ghoulish steeds and speeding off into the night.

Strider stood up, twitching aside a curtain to watch them go. The four Hobbits huddled together, terrified, looking up at the two humans with glassy, frightened eyes of a deer caught in a snare. Strider sighed and motioned over to the bed. "Get some sleep, little ones. We depart at first light."

They obeyed, snuggling under thick blankets and closing their eyes. Within minutes their breathing was slow and even, their sides rising and falling as they entered the gentle fog of slumber. Accalia sat on a chair and wrapped her cloak around her tightly. Strider watched her. Her face carried a strange expression, a kind of feral savageness that bespoke of viciousness beyond human comprehension.

"You don't like them much, do you?" he asked softly after the Hobbits had all fallen asleep. She turned her silvery eyes to him and he saw the hatred in her eyes. Her fists clenched involuntarily for a moment, then relaxed.

"No." she said bitterly. "I absolutely despise them. They were too weak, too stupid. Like all Men." she added.

Strider gave a soft snort. She glared at him. "You are too, Master Strider." she snapped. "All Men are. They think they own the world, think they can control it, but when all they're really doing is putting everything out of balance."

"You speak as if you aren't human." Strider said mirthlessly. She looked away, out the window at the sliver of moon that was peeking through the heavy cloud cover, and said nothing. He studied her carefully. She appeared to be human - her ears were rounded, not pointed like an elf; her skin was of a normal rosy color, and her eyes, although unusual, were not the dark purple of a pixie or a sprite. Her hair was soft and normal looking, and she was not excessively hairy or muscular. She was the epitome of a beautiful princess.

Within a few moments he saw her eyes flutter close. Her head slumped backwards just a bit, and he saw her death grip on her dagger loosened. He watched her sleep, and for a few minutes all of her grief and cares faded, leaving before him a stunning young girl who had finally succumbed to the overwhelming pull of the Sandman.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

They left Bree at dawn, just as Strider had said. Accalia fed the Hobbits a hunk of bread and some apples, which was a grossly unacceptable meal, in Pippin's noisy opinion. Frodo said nothing, just munched quietly and followed their guides over obstacles and through thick hedges. Sam trailed behind Frodo, watching the sky critically for any signs of a threat.

It was a perfect day for traveling. The sky was still gray with the new morning, and it looked unlikely that they would see the indigo blue of a sky that day. Dew coated every grass blade with a delicate drop of moisture, and it sparkled in the watery sunlight. Mud squished underneath the Hobbit's bare feet, and they found it delightfully amusing to wiggle their hairy toes in the muck and grime. Accalia had boundless energy, it seemed; her long legs would carry her far ahead of the group, then she would double back, her swords drawn, her cheeks tinted the exquisite pink of a sulphur rose. Strider, carefully letting no emotion show on his face, watched her. She was remarkably attune to her surroundings - her ears quivered at the slightest sound out of the ordinary - and her feet were fast and light.

When they had been walking for almost an hour, Pippin sat down and began taking out a frying pan. Accalia, knowing of the strict mealtimes of the Hobbits, rolled her eyes and kept walking, but Strider turned around with an incredulous look on his face. "Gentlemen, we do not stop until nightfall." he chided gently. Pippin stared at him, cocking his head to one side.

"What about breakfast?" he demanded. Strider shook his head, confused.

"You've already had it." he said. Pippin folded his arms, readying himself for a good debate about food. Hobbits were extremely habitual eaters, and it was practically a crime to skip a mealtime.

"We've had one, yes. What about second breakfast?" Pippin asked.

Strider opened his mouth to argue, when Accalia pulled on his arm. "Don't." she said in a low whisper. "You'll never win."

He followed her into the bushes, disgusted with the softness of his traveling companions. Merry glanced at his fellow troublemaker, shrugging his shoulders. Pippin blinked a few times at the retreating back of Strider.

"I don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip." Merry said. Pippin stared at his friend, aghast.

"But he knows about elevenses? Lunch? Tea? Supper? Dinner? He knows about them, right?" Pippin asked, his voice rising and holding an underlying note of panic.

"I wouldn't bet on it." Merry said, shouldering his pack. An apple came flying from the bushes and Merry caught it one handedly. He, in turn, tossed it to Pippin. "Here!" he said cheerfully. Pippin caught the apple clumsily, and another one thwacked him hard on the head. He sighed.

It was going to be a long walk.


	3. Chapter Two: Attack!

**A/N: Sorry for the weird changes in fonts in my previous two chapters. I think FF is going goofy on me. Hopefully this chapter will turn out all right.**

**UPDATE: I have received a few questions, and I'll try to answer them. My beta (aka, my brother) strongly suggested I keep Aragorn and Arwen together. I highly disagree (I **_**really **_**don't like her) but hey, that's just me. So this is now a Legolas/OC fiction. Sorry for any disappointed readers. I hope you enjoy this, because I'm just reaching the tip of the iceberg. The next chapter will be about Arwen and Accalia's race to Rivendell. If you like Action/Adventure chapters, you'll love the next one!**

**Summary: Frodo is attacked by the Nazgul and Strider gets a few suspicions about Accalia.**

**Disclaimer: I own Accalia Ravenheart. Nothing else. **

Weathertop had once been a majestic watchtower, keeping solemn guard over the plains of Aruosh. It had been filled with armories, a large kitchen, an infirmary, and several barracks were soldiers could be kept in a pinch. But now it was a crumbling ruin, overgrown with moss and weeds, broken stones littered about everywhere, and crumbled mortar scattered about. On one side of Weathertop Hill a cave had been scooped cleanly out of the hillside - this had once been the kitchens, but you would never know it. Now it was a smooth walled stone cave, perfect for keeping four small Hobbits and two disgruntled humans safe and secret for a short amount of time. Broken stairs led up to the very top of Weathertop, where pillars and half-crumbled bricks lay in hazardous places.

Frodo dropped to his knees when they were all safely inside. His legs were screaming in protest. He had never run so far in his life. His pale face had two spots of red on his cheekbones, and he felt as though he were sipping air through a tiny straw. Sam lay next to him, in a similar state of exhaustion. Merry and Pippin were too hungry to be tired, and they set about digging rations out of packs and dishing it out. Accalia was the only person who was seemingly unaffected by the long distances - she looked as calm and composed as she had when they left. Even Strider was tired, and he was used to running incredible marathons.

Strider stood, unsheathing his sword. "I'm having a look around," he announced. Accalia made no move to stand, she merely tattooed a hole in the wall with her fiery gaze. After he had left, she stood and sighed.

"Men," she said disgustedly. Frodo raised his head a fraction.

"Accalia," he said, his voice pleading. "Sing us a song, will you?"

Her hard expression softened, and she ruffled the small Hobbit's curly dark hair. "Silly Hobbit," she said. "You know all of my songs."

"I don't care," Frodo said wearily. "Sing the one about running, that one is nice."

Accalia sat back against the slick stone wall and closed her eyes. She began singing in a soft, low voice that was pure and gentle. The language was foreign, but somehow you got the general gist of it. Frodo could hear the cadence in her voice, the steady thumping of running feet. If he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, he could see a wolf running on a moonlit night, it's dark fur illuminated in shades of white and blue. Within moments Frodo was asleep, his breathing slackening to a steady, guttural sound that reminded Accalia of the ocean waves. She too closed her eyes, wishing she were wrapped in some wolf fur to keep her warm. So instead she rubbed her hands briskly along her arms to warm herself, then fell asleep.

When she woke, Strider had still not returned. The heady, delicious aroma of frying tomatoes and mushrooms hung in the air like a fine perfume. She sniffed the wind, relishing the unique scents that came floating to her. Then it struck her. If they were frying something, that meant….

"Put that out, you fools!" Frodo yelped, stamping on the fire. Accalia jumped to her feet, her dark gray eyes flashing dangerously.

"You just alerted every Ringwraith for miles!" Accalia said in a whisper. "Hurry, put the fire out!"

The shocked Hobbits doused the flames, but it wasn't quick enough - a primal scream tore through the calm summer air, accompanied by the wailing shriek of a horse. Hoof beats thundered down below them, and Accalia glanced over the lip of the cliff. She counted the five Nazgul that had pursued them earlier, but if they kept shrieking like that the other four would be on them soon. In her soul she knew she couldn't fight them all and live - but her prideful heart demanded that she at least try. She grasped the pendant around her neck and raised it to her lips.

_Ouuuuuuurrrrruuuuuuu!_

A wolf howl echoed off the cliffs, sounding like a knell over the mountains. She gave it another long blast, just to be safe, and listened, every fiber of her wishing, hoping, praying…she couldn't fight them all…please answer…

An answering howl rent the night, coming from the south. Hope surged through Accalia, and she cupped her hands around her mouth and howled the way she usually did. It wasn't nearly as sweet sounding - actually, it sounded quite vicious - but the answering call was reassuring. Accalia boosted the Hobbits up onto the broken stairs. "Hurry, up there!" she cried. Sam helped Frodo to his feet and they took off, jumping the missing steps and trying hard not to stub their hairy Hobbit feet on the shattered masonry. Merry hauled Pippin to his feet and they followed them. Merry glanced behind them, and saw Accalia unsheathing her swords, a fiery light in her eyes.

"Accalia! You can't fight them all!" Pippin yelled. Accalia was strangely calm, and her gray eyes were shining bright silver in the beautiful moonlight. She looked so peaceful, it was hard to believe she was preparing for the fight of her life.

"Protect Frodo, Peregrin," Accalia called to them. "I'll hold them off until help arrives."

Pippin dithered for a moment, then felt himself being yanked from behind by Merry, and they stumbled up to the top of Weathertop. They stood there, panting, breathless, their hearts beating wildly in their chests. They could feel the blood pounding in their temples, and Frodo pulled out his short sword that Strider had given him. "Come on! We need to fight!" he said loudly, but his voice was shaky.

The five black-clad figures swarmed around them, creating a loose semicircle. Simultaneously five blades were withdrawn, making the lethal sounds of metal scraping against leather. No expression was on their shadowed faces as they advanced slowly, almost ceremoniously, as if they were preparing sacrifices for their god. Frodo's face went blank as he felt the ring calling to him in a sweet, soothing whisper.

_Put me on…_

_They'll go away if you put me on…_

His hands automatically reached for the gold ring, stroking it absentmindedly. It made sense, really, to put it on. How could they kill him if he was invisible?

Behind the five advancing figures there was a terrible growl. Frodo snapped out of his reverie just in time to see a gigantic wolf, tawny gold in color and larger then a horse, spring on top of one of the Ringwraiths. The cloaked creature stumbled and tried hacking the beast away, but the wolf clamped on hard to it's head and began to twist to one side. The once-mighty king gave a hollow scream, so chilling and awful Sam would have nightmares about it later, and the wolf drove it off the cliff. Then Accalia was among them, slashing with her twin blades, both of them as fast and deadly as a viper. Her footwork was impeccable, darting here and there, never staying in one place for long, ducking and weaving like a champion.

But the largest Nazgul saw Frodo.

He came over slowly, taking his time, and Frodo felt the world beginning to spin in lazy circles. It would make _so_ much sense to put on the ring right about now. So, Frodo did the only sensible thing he could think of: he put the ring on.

It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The short time the ring had been on his finger back at the Prancing Pony had been unpleasant, but in the very presence of the Ringwraiths, it was almost torturous. Icy cold chill swept through him from head to foot, as if a bucket of icy water had doused him. Everything was slow and swirling about him in whites and grays. Something white-hot pierced his left pectoral and he screamed, a blood-curdling cry that made him cringe. Everything went from cold to hot, all at once, except for the incision where the dagger had stabbed him. Things swirled in one last circle, then everything went inky black.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Strider was busy snaring a rabbit when he saw it. He knelt, preparing to skin the hare in a few deft strokes like he had been taught when he heard a twig snap. His hooded head shot up and he narrowed his eyes, searching for an enemy. Carefully, slowly, silently, he stood and reached for his blade, looking around quickly for whatever had made the twig snap. His eyes fell upon a small Hobbit-size figure in the distance. He jutted his chin forward defiantly, anger flaring brightly in his chest. He had specifically told the blasted little runts to stay at Weathertop - !

He dashed forward, reaching for Frodo's shoulder, spinning him around. What he saw made his gut roil unpleasantly, his gorge rising as his belly prepared to hurl whatever scraps of food had been in his stomach.

Frodo's cheerful face, with his dark curly hair, was melting, sagging off of his high cheekbones, as though he were a candle hovering too close to a fire. His melted flesh dripped off his chin, pattering on the earth between his hairy feet, and a skull emerged, glowing a sinister shade of white. His eyes shone a demonic red, boring into Strider, and a ghoulish grin spread across Frodo's normally-handsome features. Then, he morphed, or changed, or melted, into a Ringwraith, with thick black cloths obscuring his ghastly face. His back twisted, and black leathery wings ripped through his vest and tunic, beating the air twice. The Frodo-Demon shrieked the familiar cry of the Nazgul and flapped off towards Weathertop.

Strider raised his gaze to Weathertop, and his heart sank to his toes.

He could dimly make out the forms of five tall figures dueling savagely. He could barely make out the smaller forms of the Hobbits from this distance, but it was all he needed. The Ringwraiths had arrived at Weathertop to fetch the ring. Hurriedly he unsheathed his blade and began running forward, his battle blood singing in his veins. It was time for a fight.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Pure white light emanated from Accalia, and her hair shone a silvery blonde. Her blades sang in the night air, slashing through the heavy black robes of the Nine, piercing their undead flesh and making them howl. But that was not the only thing making them howl. She chanted as she fought, her skills with magic far surpassing her skill with a sword. The Nazgul grew weaker and more clumsy as she chanted quickly, and two of them actually stumbled on the hems of their long robes. When they actually stopped fighting, disoriented, she knew she had succeeded.

Without a backward glance, she leapt off the edge of the cliff, the tawny wolf following close behind her.

On the ledge where they had been sleeping, five beings were crouched there. A huge raven, the size of a sheep, a gigantic spider that was easily the size of a human head, a small dragon that was still the size of the wolf, and two vultures that were the size of cows. She readied her blades, sweat causing her blonde bangs to point into upside down V's. A feral snarl formed on her pretty face, and the wolf's muzzle rippled, baring bloodied fangs.

_You are always getting into trouble, my rider,_ the wolf growled through their mental link. Accalia threw herself on the dragon and began fighting savagely, twin blades winking and twirling in the weak moonlight. The wolf lunged at one of the vultures, sinking his fangs into a dirty wing. The vulture squawked, flapping distractedly.

_That's why I have you, Hzrathgur, _Accalia said simply. _You can always get me out._

_Not this time, foolish girl._ Hzrathgur snarled. _How can you rip apart them like that? You know Sauron didn't intend for their deities and their host bodies never to be parted. _

_Which is why they're so weak_, Accalia said triumphantly, sawing off the dragon's head with another cleave of her sword. _And why Strider ought to be able to take on their host bodies while I'm tackling these._

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Which was exactly what Strider was doing.

He hurled the flaming branch at the last Nazgul, and watched run off with a look of grim satisfaction on his handsome features. It was bizarre, really, how easy they had been to fight. Almost as if they were unused to dueling or something along those lines. His adrenaline soon disappeared like a punctured balloon the second he heard Frodo's raspy groans coming from the floor. Strider whirled around, and, seeing the stricken Hobbit lying prone on the floor, sprang over to him.

"Frodo," he muttered, then swore in Elvish. Frodo's eyes were milky white, and his breath was coming in short, rapid bursts. A sickening blackish-red blood was seeping slowly from his wound, and Strider's keen eyes saw the rusty blade lying near him. He picked it up and it disintegrated into ashes.

"He has been stabbed with a cursed blade." he said grimly.

"What does that mean?" Sam cried, his voice squeaky with fear and tension.

"He is passing into the Shadowrealm. Soon he will become a wraith like them." Strider said solemnly. "This is beyond my skills as a healer. He needs Elvish medicine. We need to get him to Rivendell as soon as possible."

"But it's five days to Rivendell!" Merry protested. "He'll never make it!"

As if to accentuate this, Frodo gave a wheezing yelp, writhing on the floor, clutching his belly with his forearms. Strider's mind thought frantically, running through mental lists of all the healing herbs he knew. "Sam, do you know the Altheas plant?" he asked urgently.

"Altheas?" Sam said, his eyes unfocused. Strider shook him by the shoulders, snapping him back to reality. Sam jerked awake.

"It's also known as kingswort. Do you know what it looks like?" he asked. Sam nodded once, vigorously.

"Aye, kingswort, that's a weed," he said.

"Go and find some," Strider said, getting up. "I'll help you. It may slow the poison."

They both got up and began searching through the thick bushes and weeds. His searches soon brought him far beyond the crest of Weathertop, where he was relatively alone. His keen eyes spotted a tiny clump of white flowers, no larger then periwinkles, all bunched together. He withdrew his knife to slice some when he felt a blade at his neck.

"What's this?" said a disdainful, singsong, feminine voice. "A ranger, caught off his guard?"

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Accalia climbed back on the summit of Weathertop, and, noting the absence of Sam and that useless Ranger, knelt next to Frodo. "What happened?" she demanded of Pippin.

"Where did you go?" Pippin shot back. "We needed you, and you disappeared!"

"For your information, Peregrin Took, I was busy saving your sorry arses from extinction! You ought to be worshipping the ground I walk on!" Accalia snapped heatedly. Merry folded his arms, scowling.

"Oh, really? 'Cos it looked like to me you ran off from a fight. Care to explain that, Accalia Ravenheart?" he asked mockingly. Accalia closed her eyes, praying for patience. They snapped open again when Frodo gave a weak gasp. She felt for his pulse, then saw the bleeding wound, and cursed in her native tongue.

"Meredith, don't you dare contradict me. Go tell Strider where we are, he should have a friend with him," she said. _At least, I hope he does_, she said to herself.

She had sent for the elf a long time ago, and apparently she had taken her sweet old time getting here. It was a long ways off from the patrol, Accalia knew, but even so, the elf should have recognized the distinctive summoning spells of the Riders and rushed to their aid. It would be a story to tell her grandchildren - how she rescued a Rider from one of the worst fates imaginable. But nothing had appeared, and every precious second that ticked by was a wasted one.

Merry came back with Strider and a beautiful elf riding on a snowy white horse. Strider caught sight of Accalia, still damp from battle, her eyes wild and her teeth bared. "Where the devil have you been, Accalia?" he growled.

"None of your business, Ranger," Accalia grunted. Arwen slid smoothly off her horse and dropped to her knees in front of Accalia.

"My Lady!" Arwen said in an awed whisper. "It is truly an honor to be in your presence."

Accalia dragged Arwen unceremoniously to her feet by her elbow, tossing her close to Frodo. "Yes, yes, she-elf, now go tend to the ring bearer!" she snapped impatiently. Arwen gathered her skirts and began mumbling in Elvish over Frodo's twitching form. After a moment, she lifted her head and looked at Strider.

"He is bad," she pronounced finally. "He will not last much longer. He must be treated by my father. Only he can heal the little Hobbit."

"If I ride hard, I can reach Rivendell by the day after tomorrow," Strider mused. Arwen's brow knotted, her blue eyes growing hard and cold. She balled her fists and went over to stand by her pure white horse.

"If _you ride hard? Estel, I should ride. I know the way." she said firmly. Strider - or was it Estel? - touched her hand, gripping it tightly. _

"_Arwen, you stay here with the Hobbits and Accalia. I will send horses for you when I reach Rivendell." Strider said quietly. Arwen opened her mouth to argue, but a sharp retort from Accalia silenced them both. _

"_Don't fight, you bloody fools," she purred, her voice low and deadly. "Elf, you're coming with me. Ranger…" she sniffed disdainfully. "You stay here and protect the Hobbits. No doubt they will be in need of your…skills…" _

"_But what will you ride?" Strider snapped waspishly. Arwen looked scandalized. _

"_Estel, do you not know - !" she began, but a warning look from Accalia silenced her. Strider looked between the two of them curiously. _

"_Do I not know what?" he asked. Accalia picked up Frodo, laying him tenderly on the large white horse. She checked his temperature, then laid a hand on his sweaty forehead. She grimaced. _

"_Nothing, Ranger." she growled. "Elf, mount your horse. I need to get a few…things…from the woods." _

_Accalia strode off into the undergrowth, and after a moment, Arwen followed her, leaving behind a very confused ranger and three despairing Hobbits. _


	4. Chapter Three: Riding and Departures

**A/N: This is the fourth chapter in my story "The Riders". You'll finally, finally, **_**finally**_** find out exactly who/what Accalia is. LOL, that took a while, didn't it?**

**Summary: Arwen and Accalia race to Rivendell. When they get there, Accalia believes her quest is finished. Aragorn's questions are still not answered - he is still extremely suspicious - and when he hears that Accalia is not coming with them, he is relieved. Little does she know that she has plans of her own…**

**Disclaimer: I own Accalia Ravenheart and Hzrathgur. **

Paws thudded against the ground as Hzrathgur ran, his golden fur damp with the morning dew. His ears were flat against his head, his tongue lolling out as he panted, his dark eyes snapping with drive and a feral snarl. His muzzle rippled into a growl as he ran, his thickly padded paws barely skimming the earth as he ran, kicking up splatters of sticky black mud. Lying low on his back, close to his broad neck, Accalia rode on him, gripping his nape with both of her hands. She used no saddle or bridle - just gripped with her knees and fists. Her blonde hair was once again plaited behind her, and her steely gray eyes were hard and focused. Every so often her hand darted down to pat Hzrathgur's thumping chest soothingly, murmuring words in a foreign language in his ears, which were still pressed flat on his golden head.

Arwen and her mount, Asfaloth, were far behind them. Accalia had taken off quickly, knowing that Hzrathgur's speed and endurance would greatly outmatch Asfaloth and began carving a path in the dense wilderness. She was mildly surprised that she knew the way to Rivendell so well - after all, it had been over a thousand years since she had trod these woods. And even back then, Hzrathgur had not been with her. Now she negotiated over tiny rivulets of streams, craggy boulders, and dead logs with the ease and skill of a champion Rider. Even as she urged Hzrathgur to greater speed by pressing her heels into his flanks, and felt sadness threaten to overcome her. Frodo would never make it…

_No time for grief, little rider,_ Hzrathgur chided. _We have much work to do._

Accalia stroked his chest again and he lunged forward, his muscular legs bounding over a fallen log that was leaning crazily against another tree. The whole forest stank of decay and soggy old wood - the stench filled both of their nostrils like the odor of rotting meat. It was very similar to the scent of the Ringwraiths, which was not unlike that of a corpse. Accalia almost retched as the sharp, acrid smell of death reached her nose again, and fought to keep control over her stomach. Behind them, Hzrathgur heard a the scream of a horse.

She pulled up hard, wheeling Hzrathgur around to listen. The only thing that could be heard was the panting of her steed and her heart, which was thumping wildly in her chest. Her ears pricked up, and she closed her eyes to listen hard. Hzrathgur growled low in his throat, the fur on his neck standing up. Accalia heard it too. The distinctive whinny of the nine black horses that were following them closely, nipping at their heels.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Arwen prayed to every deity she knew in every language she could think of, speaking almost a nonstop stream of Elvish to Frodo. She recited every healing charm she had been taught in a vain effort to slow the poison that was, even now, spilling slowly into Frodo's veins. Asfaloth whinnied, his eyes bulging and rolling at the sickening aroma of death that hung in the air. The Nine were close behind them. Not for the first time, Arwen wished Accalia had stayed by her side. The Rider was dangerous, temperamental, and easily offended, but nothing could match the might and fury of a Great Wolf in battle. Even the Wargs trembled under their ferocious jaws, their huge claws sinking into the earth as they fought.

Frodo slumped forward on Asfaloth's proud white neck, his eyes rolling back in his head again. He was mumbling in a language Arwen didn't understand - it wasn't Elvish, nor black speech, but somewhere in between. She held onto the small Hobbit tightly, praying aloud to Elebreth that he be kept safe. He twitched and groaned loudly, his tiny frame jerking spasmodically. There was the shriek of a demonic horse behind Arwen, and she urged Asfaloth to a speed she didn't know he had. She chanced a look behind her and her heart nearly stopped.

Close behind them, almost within grabbing distance, were all nine of the Ringwraiths. Black cloth swirled mysteriously about their huge forms, their horse's eyes glinting with a savage red glow. There was the unmistakable rasp of blades being withdrawn, and Arwen was suddenly surrounded by nine dirty blades that were inanely close to Asfaloth. One of them drew alongside Arwen and reached a ghostly hand out to snatch Frodo from Asfaloth's back, but Arwen swerved hard to the right, pulling away from them and skidding up dirt. They closed in on her tightly, grouping in a loose semi circle to limit her means of escape.

She dodged around a clump of pine trees, one of the branches whipping up and slicing her cheek neatly. Blood trickled down her face and Arwen cried out, not so much in pain but in fear. It felt good to yell, and she did it again, hoping against hope that Accalia would hear her and come to her rescue. Arwen knew she was a fair swordswoman, but she was no match for the Nine all together. She spurred on Asfaloth and she saw a glitter ahead of her that ignited a bonfire of hope in her chest.

It was the river!

Asfaloth plunged into the river; it was painfully slow and shallow this time of year, so Arwen got across it with little difficulty. Unfortunately, that also meant the Ringwraiths would have no trouble getting across to reach Frodo and the One Ring. Arwen saw a flash of gold fur, and then pulled up alongside Hzrathgur who was standing on the opposite bank.

Even in her exhausted state, Arwen couldn't help but admire Accalia. Her hair was plaited but a few loose curls tumbled around her face, which was masked in a vicious glare. The twin swords she always carried were out and crossed in front of her, ready to fight at a moments notice. Hzrathgur was the epitome of a beast - his jaws open, his teeth stained with the dark red of old blood, his breath clouding the air in front of him. His golden fur was soaked with the water from the river and the dew that had coated his fur so recently before, and he was knee deep in the river. Arwen noticed that Accalia edged him oh-so-slightly backwards, onto the marshy grounds of the banks.

Across the river the Ringwraiths spread out in a line, a little uncertain what to do. One of them, the one in the middle, stepped forward and spoke. His voice was harsh and sibilant, like sandpaper running over a rock, with a guttural edge to it. "Release the Halfling, Rider," he snarled. "Do not be foolish."

"If you want him," Accalia laughed, baring her teeth like a ferocious lion. "Come and claim him!"

They began stepping across the river, picking their way across as though they were walking on hot coals instead of chilly waters. Arwen closed her eyes and began chanting softly in Elvish, willing the river to come and sweep them away. The water level rose an inch or two, then all was silent. She looked helplessly at Accalia, who didn't seem to notice Arwen at all. Her eyes were focused on something far upriver, and she was speaking in a language that sounded like very old, very formal Elvish.

_Come to me, God of the River…_

_Show us your might…_

_Sweep away the filth that clouds your mighty waters…_

_Increase your swiftness…_

_Deliver us from evil…_

Arwen watched in amazement as there was a low rumble, then water rushed forward, a huge foaming wave that crashed over rocks and swept everything away in its path. Watching it closely, she could just make out the heads and front legs of wild horses formed in the crest of the white rapids as they pulsed downstream. The Ringwraiths turned to go, but it was too late - the huge wave was upon them, knocking them flat then carrying them off downstream.

The roar that had accompanied the wave died down, and Arwen turned to Accalia, who was getting off of Hzrathgur. "My Queen, where did you learn to do that?" she asked in awe.

"My father taught me," Accalia said grimly, sliding Frodo off of Asfaloth and checking his pulse, then his forehead with one cool wrist. "He taught me many things, but not the ability to heal a cursed wound." She lashed Frodo's prone form to Hzrathgur and slapped his hindquarter sharply. He turned and gave her an offended look, then bolted into the trees.

Arwen jumped off Asfaloth and went over to Accalia, who was watching Hzrathgur depart. "You have my deepest thanks, my Queen," she said humbly. Accalia looked at her with something approaching a grudging respect.

"That was fine riding, Elf," she said shortly. "I will admit, I was surprised."

"Elves are known for their riding skills, my Queen. Of course, they are nothing like the Riders themselves, but we know how to handle a horse." Arwen said, her prideful Elvish blood rearing it's head. Accalia glanced at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Some of you are. Your father barely knows which end of the horse to ride. If he taught you I'd be surprised." Accalia said, starting off into the dense thicket of woods.

Arwen followed her, slightly hurt. Asfaloth, his mouth still flecked with foam and his sides still bathed in lather, followed her with trembling limbs. They found themselves on a small path, barely wide enough for Asfaloth to pass through without scraping his sides on the trees around them. There was the unmistakable sound of an arrow being notched to a bow, and Accalia turned quickly to her left.

Two elves stood there, bows drawn with arrows aimed straight at Accalia. "My Lady, where have you been?" one of the elves said solemnly to Arwen. "Lord Elrond has been searching for you. Why are you in such…ignoble company?" he asked, a sneer rapidly forming on his handsome face.

Accalia moved so quickly Arwen could barely follow her with her eyes. She leapt forward, snapped his bow into the air and let the arrow impale itself on a tree then closed her hand around his fingers tightly, pressing them hard against his bow. There was a slight crunch, and the elf's face went white.

"You know not whom you are speaking to, Elf," Accalia said, her voice a dangerous, silky purr. "I am Accalia Ravenheart, daughter of Kluamin Ravenheart, leader of the Rider army. I ride Hzrathgur, my wolf, whom you just saw moments ago. I am rightful heir to the Forest throne and your queen. You owe me allegiance and your utmost respect. Do I make myself clear, _Elf_?" Accalia growled, her hand clamping down hard on his fingers and twisting them slightly.

He nodded rapidly, then she released him. He winced, pressing his hands to his chest. His partner bowed deeply and respectfully at Accalia. "My Queen…forgive him for his insult. You are an honored guest in Rivendell. You are correct - we saw your mount pass by here only moments ago, but he was too swift for us to make out any details."

"Prepare a bed for the Hobbit you will find tied to Hzrathgur's back. Make sure my mount is untouched - he is not a pretty dog to be played with. He will find his way to the stables on his own - if he doesn't like the company you keep, he will eagerly eat the horses if I tell him."

The unharmed elf paled, then nodded. Elvish horses were extremely expensive. "Aye, my Queen. It will be as you say." he said, saluting smartly and running quickly off. Arwen stared at Accalia with something like disgust.

"Do you treat everyone like that, my Queen?" she asked. Accalia flashed her a lethal grin, the first one she had smiled since this whole business began.

"Absolutely."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Lord Elrond met them at the gate. When he saw Accalia, his eyes flashed and his jaw dropped - but only slightly. "My Queen…" he said, bowing. She turned away, bored, and Arwen stepped forward.

"Our Queen is very tired and wishes to rest, my father. Has her mount passed by this way?" Arwen asked. Elrond nodded somberly.

"The Hobbit that was tied to his back is in the infirmary at this very moment. Your, ah, wolf, would not allow us to treat his own injuries before they treated the Halfling's. He is resting in the stables." Elrond answered. Accalia's eyebrows shot up.

"I must see him," she said, and Elrond admired her odd accent. It was subtle enough not to hamper her words, but pronounced enough to twist her speech with a peculiar lilt. "Is he wounded?" she asked.

"From what we could see, your steed is unharmed, other then the fact he is very tired. You may follow me to the stables." Elrond said regally.

She threaded her way through Rivendell behind Elrond, taking in the unfamiliar sights. Waterfalls rushed around her, and the small cobblestone path they were walking on was intercepted at points with tiny rivulets of streams. Bushes were full of dark berries, plump and the size of your thumb. Accalia plucked one off a bush and popped it in her mouth, crushing it with her tongue, feeling the cool sweetness flow down her throat. Birds sang cheerfully in the treetops, whooping their delight to the bright morning.

Elrond led her through to a large pavilion, where a garden lay sprawled around it. Stone benches were perched haphazardly around the edges, and sunlight streamed through the open walls. The zephyr of air that stirred Accalia's curls oh-so-slightly felt cool and good against her hot cheeks, which were still flushed with exertion from her wild ride. Ahead of them, she spotted a riding ring and a building attached to it. A few elves were riding around on horses, testing their skills in archery.

Accalia bounded up the path, forgetting her Elvish guide, and slapped open the door to the stables. Hzrathgur lay on his side in one of the stalls, his eyes closed, his golden side moving slowly up and down. She knelt in front of him and stroked his ears. _I was wondering when you would come, little rider,_ Hzrathgur growled, opening his liquid black eyes.

_I was held up with Arwen and her horse,_ Accalia answered, petting his ears. He gave one of his distinctive dog-groans and flipped onto his back so Accalia could scratch his belly.

_Dumb beasts, horses,_ Hzrathgur said mildly, closing his eyes again to better enjoy Accalia's ministrations. Accalia smiled and kissed his front paw, then began running her fingers through his shaggy golden fur.

_Asfaloth is not bad, for a horse,_ Accalia said. Hzrathgur opened one eye to look at her, and gave her the equivalent of a wolf's version of a snort.

_Is this my rider, mighty in battle, fearless tracker, wonderful hunter, going _soft_?_ Hzrathgur inquired. Accalia mussed his ears, frowning at her golden steed. He gave a throaty chuckle and rolled back onto his side again. _You are beginning to prefer Elves over your own people. That cannot be a good sign._

_No! It's just…Well, my people haven't exactly been the nicest to me. At least here they give me the respect I deserve._ Accalia retorted. Hzrathgur snored loudly, and Accalia shoved him. _Pay attention, Hzrathgur!_

_I am,_ Hzrathgur answered sleepily. _I was merely resting my eyes. _

Accalia smiled and stroked his chest. _Go to sleep, Hzrathgur. You've done enough. You were terrific. _

_I was, wasn't I?_ Hzrathgur murmured drowsily. Accalia waited until his breathing was even, then silently left him to find Arwen and see where she could take a bath.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Aragorn entered the garden breathlessly, his legs still aching from his long run. Elrond sat in the garden, his dark hair flowing about his shoulders. His ears pricked up at Aragorn's approach, and he turned. "Greetings, Estel," he said quietly.

Aragorn bowed. "My gratitude, Lord Elrond," he said. Elrond accepted this with regal composure. "Is the Halfling all right?" he asked.

"He is being treated by our most expert healers at this very moment. The wound was neither deep nor long, but the poison that seeped into his veins threw him into a coma. He is resting now - he should awaken in a few days." Elrond answered simply.

"And what of Arwen?" Aragorn asked. Elrond raised an eyebrow. "And Accalia," he added hastily.

"Both are well - Arwen is taking care of Asfaloth in the stables, and Accalia is taking her refreshment in our dining hall. You may see one or both if you wish." Elrond said with a slight smile. He knew of Estel's infatuation with his daughter, and of Accalia's beauty.

"What did Accalia ride here on?" Aragorn asked curiously. Elrond hesitated.

"I am unsure as to what _exactly_ she rode upon. If you catch her in the dining hall I am sure you can ask her." Elrond said, getting up and beginning to walk away. Aragorn watched him leave, then departed for the dining hall.

He found her in the dining hall, surrounded by a crowd of admiring male elves, all of them posturing and strutting trying to impress her. She played her part very well, admiring muscles, cooing appropriately, and giggling like a starstruck teenager. She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder - it was loose and down around her shoulders - and propped her chin on her hand as she listened to a long story with rapt attention. Then she caught sight of Aragorn and stood up. She came over to him, her eyes narrowing.

"Did you take care of the Hobbits, Ranger?" she asked. In the time she had been gone, he had almost forgotten the derisive, coolly disdainful tone she always used with him. He scowled at her.

"Yes. How did you get here?" he snapped. She gave him an impish smile.

"Is that really so important? What matters is that Frodo is safe, right? Oh, and Arwen wishes to speak with you." she said. Aragorn's fists clenched.

"Whatever you are…I want to let you know something. I don't trust you, and if you're after Frodo…" he began, but she cut him off, her gray eyes growing dark and dangerous.

"Aragorn, speak to me in that tone again and you won't have a throat to speak. If it were not for me, Bilbo Baggins would look like Gollum, and Frodo would be well on his way down that path. You ought to be thanking me, for getting your little Halfling here unharmed - saving your sorry arses - riding hard without rest - !" she was sputtering now, her cheeks flaming with color. He couldn't help but notice she looked _so_ similar to Arwen when she was angry.

"What did you ride on?" he asked abruptly. Her composure snapped, and she slapped him hard across the face. He yelped and his jaws came together with a click. He tasted blood where he had bitten his lip. Her eyes were flaming and she sneered at him viciously.

"I told you about your tone, Ranger," she purred in a low, silky growl. "As I said when we first met…do not underestimate me."

With that, she left, her boots skidding slightly on the polished marble floors. Aragorn shook his head, bewildered. What a temperamental little hussy! Yet her sauciness, her savageness, it all completed her. If she had been a docile little lamb, he wouldn't have found her half as attractive.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Frodo woke slowly, feeling warm and stiff. He stretched his aching muscles, feeling the wonderful sensation of being in a soft bed, surrounded by downy pillows, thick woolen blankets wrapped around him. He blinked twice, hazy colors coming into focus. "Where am I," he murmured drowsily.

"You are in the house of Elrond. It is October the twenty-fourth, ten o'clock in the morning, if you wish to know." said a familiar voice next to him. Frodo sat up and saw Ganandalf sitting leisurely next to his bedside. Happiness surged through him.

"Ganandalf!" he cried. "What happened? Why didn't you meet us?" he asked, concern lighting up his dark eyes. Ganandalf's light blue eyes were far away for a moment, then snapped back to reality.

"I was delayed. I am sorry for not meeting you, Frodo," he apologized. Frodo nodded and lay back, feeling tired again. "You ought to thank Miss Ravenheart for getting you here so quickly, however," he continued. "Arwen couldn't have outrun the Ringwraiths without her assistance."

Frodo looked over at Accalia, who was lounging by the door. She had on a dark purple traveling cloak fastened at the neck with a bone clasp, and new black leather boots. Her hair was once again drawn back from her face and plaited firmly behind herself and a little smile was on her pretty face. She came over to him and knelt by his bedside.

"I wanted to be sure you were awake before I left," she said. Frodo smiled at her.

"Yes, I'm awake…wait, you're leaving?" he asked. Her smile was tinged with sadness.

"Yes, Frodo. My work is done. You're in Rivendell, quite possibly the safest place in Middle Earth. The Ring will continue on it's own journey, and you can stay here and be happy." Accalia said quietly, grasping Frodo's hand. Frodo pleaded with her with his eyes.

"But Accalia, I don't wish you to go. Why can't you stay here, with us?" Frodo begged. She ruffled his curly hair as she had always done, and tucked it behind his ear.

"I don't belong in Rivendell, Frodo. I need to go home to my own people, my own life." she said sadly. Frodo's eyebrows knotted.

"But…you don't have a family. Why do you need to leave so soon?" he asked. She laughed a little.

"I need to start one, Frodo. I need to get back to my home, resume my quiet little life." she patted his hand and stood up, shrugging a pack onto her shoulders. "Farwell, Wizard," she said brusquely, and left.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Aragorn listened silently to Elrond and Accalia talking in low voices by the gates of Rivendell. He could tell who was who, mostly because of Accalia's peculiar biting accent. Elrond's voice was smooth and low, sounding much like a vat of honey.

"I take it you will not need an Elven horse for your journey?" Elrond asked, his voice teasing. Aragorn detected a smile in Accalia's voice as she answered.

"No, Elrond. Hzrathgur went before me and is waiting just on the outskirts of the forest. If we hurry, we can reach the river by mid morning." Accalia said.

"Be safe, my Queen," he said. "Are you sure you would not like an escort?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It would only attract attention, and I'm trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. If I draw attention to myself, Saromaun would take notice." Accalia said softly.

"Where are you headed?" he asked.

"Fangorn forest first, to speak with the ents. Then I am off to Gondor forest, to sign a treaty with my father. After that, who knows?" Accalia said simply.

"Ganandalf wishes you would accompany the Fellowship," Elrond said quietly. "You and Hzrathgur would be the ultimate protection for the ring."

"Do you think I cannot feel the ring calling to me?" Accalia said bitterly. "Rest assured, Elrond, I wish I had never helped him forge it. I curse every day, thinking about it. It's charms are beguiling, deceptive. I hate it."

"All the more reason you would do well with the Fellowship," Elrond said. "Consider it, my Queen."

"I have." she said decisively. "And the less time I spend with that ranger the better."

"He is infuriating," Elrond suggested. Aragorn heard the sound of Accalia running her hands through her hair.

"Not only that, but I tremble for the day he sits on the throne! We will be allies, yes, but still…"

"He is betrothed to Arwen, you know," Elrond said. There was a surprised pause.

"Why do you think this would interest me, Elrond?" she asked, her voice dangerously keen.

"Oh, it's just that my wife and I started out by hating each other. Opposites attract, you know." Elrond said. There was definite mirth in his voice now.

"Elrond…he is a brave man. A courageous man. Arwen will be safe with him. I…I cannot marry a mortal. All Riders must either pledge to be maidens forever or marry someone who will never die." Accalia said. Elrond shrugged.

"So be it, my Queen. Be safe and swift, _mellon." _

"_I will." _


	5. Chapter Four: Falling Bad

**A/N: Well, did you guys like the last chapter? I hope you did. :D Anyways, enjoy this one, and happy reading! Oh, and sorry for killing off any Aragorn/OC fans. My brother wants to build up this whole subplot…anyway, it doesn't matter. As soon as I'm done with this story, I'll write an Aragorn OC story, I promise. It's just….I feel like I have a commitment to Legolas now. Plus, he's cute. Okay, on with the show and enough with this obscenely long Authors Note that nobody reads anyway!**

**Summary: This chapter is set two weeks after the Fellowships Departure from Rivendell. Accalia and Hzrathgur has been traveling for a long time, and they catch sight of the Fellowship. She doesn't know that someone from the Fellowship catches sight of her…**

**WARNING: Short chapter warning.**

**Disclaimer: I own Accalia Ravenheart and her wolf, Hzrathgur. **

The sky was gray and overcast. A fine mist rained down from the sky, mirroring the mood of everyone among the Fellowship. The loss of Ganandalf had hit all of them hard, Frodo especially. After fighting bull trolls and Orcs, watching him guide them safely through the mines, only to be devoured by the fiery Balrog. Damp grass squished underneath their boot-clad feet as they trudged forward, without even the cheerful nickering of Bill to keep them company. Aragorn was at the head of the procession, in the leadership role, as Ganandalf had intended.

Not all of them were brooding over the loss of the wizard. Legolas, the blonde elf, was scanning the horizon with renewed vigor. He had seen something early that morning…something that he had, at the time, thought was a vision, but now thought it was a sign of good fortune. The vision had been of a purple-cloaked woman, riding elegantly on a huge tawny wolf. The wolf had swiveled and looked straight at him, piercing him with it's hard black eyes, and the hooded rider had thrown back her hood and locked eyes with him. Then she had bolted off, the gold wolf running faster then Legolas would have believed possible.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Gimli, who was limping along behind him. "What's wrong, Elf?" he grunted. Legolas gritted his teeth slightly, scraping his molars against each other. The bearded dwarf really got on his nerves.

"What makes you think something is wrong, Gimli?" he retorted. He fingered the dagger in his belt. Oh, but to cut a strip of cloth from his tunic and muffle the accursed dwarf's jabbering for a few sweet hours…!

The dwarf chuckled good naturedly, his laugh muffled by his beard. "Oh, only the fact that you've been walking around like you just got a good whack on the head with my axe." he said. Legolas tightened his grip on his dagger, then relaxed.

"Nothing is wrong." he said. Boromir shortened his stride to fall in pace with the elf and the dwarf, then joined in the conversation. Legolas would have rubbed his temples if he had the energy. Why must everyone butt into his own private thoughts?

"Gimli is right, Legolas, you've been going around with your head in the clouds all day." Boromir said sternly. "Come now, what's wrong?" he asked.

"It's just…ah, nothing." Legolas said, catching himself. Merry and Pippin ran to catch up, eager to join in a conversation with someone else for the first time that day. They had always enjoyed tormenting the elf, saying he was far too pretty to be a boy.

"No, what is it, Legolas?" Merry asked. Legolas sighed, turning his azure eyes heavenward. Oh, for the love of peace - !

"All of you, _nothing_ is wrong! I saw something strange this morning and I have no wish to discuss it with any of you!" Legolas snapped. Aragorn heard this and fell back, shooing the rest of the Fellowship off. They skulked around, trying to listen in to the friend's conversation.

"Something strange?" Aragorn asked in a low voice. Legolas shrugged, not looking at his friend.

"Yes. Nothing dangerous, but…something strange nonetheless." Legolas said. Aragorn narrowed his eyes.

"What did you see?" he asked quietly. Legolas closed his eyes, remembering the vision of loveliness he had seen earlier that morning, when the new dawn had yet to touch the ground and warm the air.

"A woman…riding on a golden wolf. She was wearing a purple cloak - thick, so it must have been a traveling cloak, and the wolf looked straight at me. I thought…perhaps it could have been a Rider?" Legolas asked hopefully. Aragorn shook his head slowly.

"I know naught of Riders, my friend. But I do know of a woman who wore a purple cloak." he said, his jaw tightening when he thought of Accalia. The haughty woman had left a tiny scar on his upper lip - nothing major, but it was still a scar. He could truthfully say it was the only time he had been scarred by a woman.

"Who?" Legolas asked eagerly. Aragorn sighed.

"A woman named Accalia. She was beautiful, prettier then any of the elves I've seen, but…She was so mysterious. Different. And she had a very short temper. I have a feeling she was some kind of royalty." Aragorn admitted. What else could attribute to all the bowing Elrond had done, all of the elves calling her "my queen"?

"Did you mention a Rider?" Gimli asked, his ears perking up. Legolas threw him a souring glance.

"Yes, what of it?" he snapped. Gimli shrugged.

"They're extinct, that's all. So you couldn't have seen a Rider." Gimli said. Legolas gave a long-suffering sigh.

"She was riding on a golden wolf! What else could she have been?" Legolas asked irritably.

"All the Great Wolves died out centuries ago," Boromir interjected. "It must have been a vision, Legolas. Perhaps a messenger, sent from the gods?" he suggested.

"Rubbish," Gimli snorted. "The gods don't send messages like that. What kind of message would that be anyway? 'Oh, here, lets send a woman wearing a purple cloak riding on a gold wolf to them, and they'll know what it means'."

Legolas's temper snapped. "That's enough, all of you! You didn't see it, only I did. So enough speculating about something you didn't even glimpse!" he shouted, stalking ahead.

"Temperamental, elves are," Gimli grunted. "Touchy."

Legolas hated to admit it - the fact that he was falling for a woman he had never even seen, a woman who probably didn't exist. He was falling bad, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.O

Accalia stretched miserably - it was the kind of day she hated. Dreary, wet, drizzling rain trickled down from the sky. She wished it would either stay dry or pour - she hated days that skirted in between. Hzrathgur's broad back was slick and slippery, and her knees ached from holding on. He trotted along blithely, relishing the slow pace. Accalia twisted in her seat again to look at the rocky outcrop.

_You want to see him again, don't you?_ Hzrathgur asked.

_See who again?_ Accalia said, feigning innocence. Hzrathgur growled low in his throat.

_That elf we saw this morning. The blonde one who looks like a girl._ Hzrathgur purred.

_He does not look like a girl! And no, I'm not looking for him._

_Ah, defending him now, are we?_

Accalia gritted her teeth. Wolves could be so infuriating sometimes. She dug her fingers into the nape of his neck. _No, I'm only saying he doesn't look like a girl._ she snapped.

_Relax, little one, I will leave him alone. For the time being, he added as an afterthought. _

_They continued west, trekking along the marshy plains. Accalia closed her eyes and thought of him. He was tall, as all elves were, standing on the rocky outcrop with the new sun rising behind him. Call it romantic, call it sentimental, call it whatever you wished - Accalia was falling for someone she'd never even seen. Falling bad. _


	6. Chapter Five: Arrivals and Explanations

**A/N: It finally becomes TOTALLY CLEAR who the Riders are!**

**Summary: Explanations and arrivals. **

**Disclaimer: I own Accalia Ravenheart and Hzrathgur. Nothing else. **

They had been running for too long - their legs burned, their chests heaved in a never ending battle to regain their stolen breath. Sweat dripped from their foreheads as they ran the final mile to the foreboding tree line of Lorethelain, hoping to find some solace in their exhausted limbs. Frodo ran ahead of the others, his short legs not keeping him from running as fast as he could. The loss of Gandalf was as sharp and clear as a new knife wound, and it was his grief, not his tears, that veiled his vision. His throat burned with the suppressed tears for his old friend, but he couldn't afford to cry now.

They stumbled into the forest, their legs trembling with fatigue. Legolas was the first to stand upright, even though his breath was still dancing out of his reach. Aragorn nudged his elven friend forward, and they began trudging through the golden forest of Lorethelain. The majestic trees that stretched to the heavens towered above them, and the tawny pine needles that covered the earth muffled their footsteps as they walked, aiding the eerie silence. Legolas's ears were straining to hear some noise, some clue to reveal intruders, but there was nothing. Still, every muscle in his body was on edge.

Gimli was mumbling noisily to himself at the rear of the procession. "They say there's a sorceress in these woods," he grumbled, using his axe as a walking stick as he heaved himself along. "And Elf witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell." he said spookily. Then he threw out his barrel chest. "Well, this is one dwarf whom she won't ensnare so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

The razor-tipped point of an arrow at his throat halted his speech. He swallowed nervously. A disdainful, singsong voice floated to their ears. "This dwarf breathes so loudly we could have shot him in the dark." he sneered.

"Haldir…" said a very familiar voice warningly. "How many times did I tell you not to harm my friends?"

A strikingly beautiful woman pushed her way roughly through the crowd of angry elves, her golden hair flowing over her shoulders. A scowl was on her pretty, angular features and she shoved Haldir roughly aside. "Ranger…" she said coolly in greeting.

Standing in front of them, her familiar twin rapiers belted to her waist, was Accalia.

**OoooOoooO**

"Accalia!" Frodo cried in relief, throwing himself at her. She hugged him tightly, and was then mobbed by Merry, Pippin and Sam. She held the four of them tightly, as though they were small children who needed to be comforted. When they had sated their thirst for hugging her, she was able to look up, and her breath caught in her throat.

Legolas's sky-blue eyes locked with her steely gray ones.

A flame passed between them, fiercer and bolder then any of them had ever seen. Accalia's eyes widened, as did Legolas's as they surveyed each other. "You're…" he began.

"Accalia." she finished, holding out her hand. "Accalia Ravenheart, Rider of the Northern Plains."

He took her hand and kissed it softly, his blue eyes never leaving hers. "Prince Legolas, from the Woodland realm." he said softly.

Haldir cleared his throat loudly, breaking the spell that had descended over the blonde elf and the gray-eyed Rider. "Come, Lady Galadriel is waiting for you."

They went through the forest, still treading quietly. Legolas felt drunk - it was as though he had swallowed too much old Elvish wine too quickly, for his head was very light and his tongue felt strangely heavy. Her fierce gaze was intoxicating - her lithe movements enchanting. Everything about her was angelic, too beautiful and precious for words. Aragorn elbowed him lightly as they passed.

"Be careful, mellon," he whispered. "That one has a nasty temper."

Legolas shook his head like a hound trying to rid his ears of water. How could such a goddess have a short temper? She was too perfect, too -

She shoved Haldir unceremoniously to the left as they entered Lothlorien, and Legolas saw what his friend has been talking about. She spat something at the silver-haired warrior in a strange tongue, and he answered meekly in the same language. Then she rounded firmly on him and he sped off to fetch Lady Galadriel.

Accalia turned to the Fellowship and gave a piercing whistle that made them all wince. "What's going on?" Boromir asked. "Who is she?"

Before any of them could answer, a gigantic golden wolf, larger then a horse, bounded into view. His liquid black eyes were bright and hard, and he surveyed them with a mixture of distaste and anger. **So, the latecomers finally arrived?** he asked sardonically. Accalia mussed his ears affectionately.

**Shush, Hzrathgur. **Accalia murmured through their mental link. Then she said aloud, "Fellowship of the Ring, meet Hzrathgur. He won't harm you unless I tell him to." she said, giving Aragorn a very sour look.

Frodo approached the beast hesitantly, extending a hand. Hzrathgur peered down at the child-like Hobbit, then licked his curly hair gently. **I like this one,** he decided after a moment. **His courage is admirable.**

**OoooOoooO**

"You," Aragorn said firmly after they had all bathed and changed, "Have a lot of explaining to do."

Accalia sighed and leaned back against a tree, closing her eyes. Hzrathgur was lying a few paces away, with Merry and Pippin between his massive paws. For some reason, the golden wolf tolerated their constant prodding and poking.

"I suppose I do," she said, her hostile tone dropping from her voice. She rubbed her temples and ran her hands through Frodo's dark curly hair. He was sitting on her lap, curled up, his dark eyes reflecting the firelight.

"Where do I begin?" she said after a moment, then uttered a quiet laugh.

"You can start by who you are." Aragorn said flatly. She threw him a savage glance.

"I will not tell you again to mind your tone," she growled. "I'll simply have Hzrathgur eat you." then she sighed again and kept playing with Frodo's hair.

"I am Accalia Ravenheart, daughter of Kluamin Ravenheart, who led the Riders into battle during the First War of the Ring. I am the Queen of the Riders, seeing as my brother has been dead for many years. My wolf, Hzrathgur, is the leader of his pack.

"We are a balanced race," she said, staring into the crimson flames. "The Riders keep our world balanced and safe. We ride upon the Great Wolves - they have been thought to be dead, but in the misty lands of the North, they thrive. Our long standing alliance with all beasts has been retained, even now."

"Nonsense," Gimli grunted. "Only Elves and Men fought in the First War. Where the bloody hell were you?"

Accalia glowered at him. "Watch your tongue, Master Dwarf," she purred. "Do you really think that Elves won the war? There was a war going on beneath your feet that nobody ever knew about. Why do you think Sauron allowed himself to be out in the open during the battle?"

She looked around, then took a deep, shuddering breath. "In the caves where Sauron was fighting, a horde of ten thousand Orcs and Goblins were poised to strike. As soon as the Men reached their breaking point, Sauron was planning to have the native Orcs jump out of hiding and overwhelm them with sheer numbers. But we got there first." she said, a look of grim satisfaction lighting up her face.

"We fought hard and long. Many of our warriors died, including my youngest brother and my father. Much blood was shed, many lives were lost, but we stood, victorious, at the end of the third day of the battle. We heard the distant clang of weaponry above our heads, and we tried to make it to the surface to aid our allies, the Elves. But Sauron, when he died, caused a cave in." her face darkened as she said this.

"The dust was so thick in the air no one could breathe. We struggled out from amid the heavy corpses of Orcs, fighting our way up to the surface. When we arrived, breathless, bloodied and panting from our struggles, we saw the Men going back to their city, rolling in their victory like pigs in mud." she spat. "They would have lost, had it not been for us."

"What does this have anything to do with the One Ring?" Aragorn asked sharply. Accalia didn't look at him - for the first time, a flush of shame swept over her pale cheeks.

"We helped forge it," she whispered. "Sauron is not human, as you were led to believe. He was a Rider once, a strong, fine Rider with plenty of sense and good will. But his weak mind bent him easily to the darker side of Middle Earth, and soon his heart became corrupted. He approached us as a friend and a leader, asking us to forge a ring worthy to be worn by a great leader. We obliged, forging his pretty trinket over and over, sending countless models to him. Each one was rejected, and finally he went to Mount Doom and began forging it himself."

Her eyes were blank and far away as she began recounting it. "I was there," she whispered. "I assisted him while he poured his hate, his anger, his dark mind into the Ring…and I did nothing," she said bitterly. "I stood and watched while he made his trinket. I told him it would be dangerous, deadly, that it was unbalanced, that it would bring Middle Earth to it's knees. And he looked at me and smiled." she shuddered. "Then he said, 'Good. That is what I intended.'"

"We turned a blind eye to his dreadful deeds, trying to ignore it. The motto of the forest is, 'If you ignore it long enough, it will go away.' But when Sauron began attacking our villages, slaughtering women and children, he had gone too far. We stood up for ourselves, leading all twelve of our tribes into victory. When Isildur took the Ring for himself, we knew it would be a bad idea. And yet, we still did nothing."

A single tear trickled down her cheek, and she scuffed it away hastily. "When it was lost…we thought it was over. Relieved, we began trying to rebuild the forests and cities that Sauron had destroyed in his rampages. Then, Gollum found it. We trekked long and hard, looking for it to destroy it, but when we found Gollum's cave, we discovered he was gone."

She stroked Frodo's temple. "I'm sorry, Frodo," she whispered. "I knew it would cause harm, and yet…I helped him anyway. I didn't mean for it to come to this."

"Can you help us?" he asked, twisting upright so he could look at his friend in the eyes. "Can you convince your tribe to fight against Mordor?"

Accalia laughed bitterly. "What do you think I was doing while you were in the mines?" she asked. "They would hear nothing of it, even though I told them of the havoc being wreaked in other parts of Middle Earth."

Frodo lay down again tiredly, resting his cheek on Accalia's arm. "Try again," he mumbled sleepily. "You can try again, right?"

Accalia sighed. "I can try again," she admitted. "Although I would prefer Gandalf to accompany me. I'm sorry he died."

Frodo closed his eyes tightly, and Accalia felt him tense. "Not all wizards die, you know," she said softly. "Some are respawned if their work is not finished. Have courage, little Baggins."


	7. Chapter Six: What Does your Heart Say?

**OoooOoooO**

Three boats bobbed gently in the rushing river, lashed securely to a nearby tree. Aragorn was stowing their packs underneath the seats, and Gimli was throwing a tantrum about going on a boat. Dwarves, after all, cannot really swim. Legolas was leaning against a tree, his heart aching. It had been three short weeks with Accalia - three beautiful, blissful, perfect weeks. Hzrathgur had said nothing to him during that whole time, but Legolas didn't really care. He could live with the wolf's anger if it meant being with Accalia.

He saw Accalia packing as well - she was leaving for Fangorn Forest at the same time they were leaving for Mordor. Hzrathgur was freshly bathed and combed, and he was off in the forest saying good bye to Lady Galadriel, who had taken special care of the gigantic wolf. Legolas watched her plait her blonde hair firmly behind her, and he left his position by the tree in order to sneak up on her. When he reached her, he encircled her waist with his hand.

Was it his imagination, or did her breath intake slightly? She flicked a glance behind her and smiled when she saw it was Legolas. She relaxed and leaned against his chest, loving the feel of his warm breath on her neck. "Yes?" she asked.

"I'm going to miss you." he murmured in her ear. She turned around, her gray eyes full of sadness.

"I know, turalin. I'll miss you too." Accalia said softly. His eyebrows drew together.

"Turalin?" he asked questioningly. Accalia stroked his cheek gently.

"In Rider, it means 'warrior' or 'courageous one'." she answered simply. "It's how I always think of you."

Legolas smiled at her. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his left cheek, then his right. By Rider customs, she was signaling to the rest of the tribe that he was an equal, and a good friend. "Je lapit alle mina frellain." She breathed in his ear.

"What does that mean?" he asked quietly. He felt her smile against his cheek.

"It means 'whenever you see something beautiful, think of me'." She answered. Impulsively, he kissed her cheek swiftly.

"I will." he promised. Reluctantly they broke apart, and he climbed into the boat, his new bow winking in the sun. He had given her his old bow, since the new one Lady Galadriel had given him was far superior. She had accepted it graciously, and had bestowed upon him a royal smile and her preciously carved dierk.

Aragorn cast off, and the last thing Legolas saw was Accalia standing on the bank, leaning up against a tree, Hzrathgur by her side. She unsheathed her swords and crossed them over her head, bidding them farewell in true Rider fashion. When the small boats had disappeared out of sight, she sighed and lowered her blades.

I'm going to miss him something terrible, Hzrathgur.

she said.

I still wish you have chosen the Ranger.

Hzrathgur grumbled. **I have never liked elves, ever since that miserable Haldir broke your heart.**

Her lips tightened. **He's nothing like that.** Accalia insisted. **Haldir was a selfish, greedy pig who just wanted to bring me to his talan. Legolas is a perfect gentleman.**

Hzrathgur dipped his head and licked her cheek. **We should be going, my Rider.** he said softly. **You can long for your lover while we are riding, can you not?**

He isn't my said crossly, swinging herself on Hzrathgur gracefully, adjusting the packs of food on her shoulders. **We're friends, that's all.**

Ah, little Rider,Hzrathgur said. **Does your heart tell you he is a friend?**

Accalia didn't answer.


	8. Chapter Seven: Can't think of a title

Hzrathgur's paws struck the earth as he sped low over the rocky ground, his back paws spraying up handfuls of rock and earth. His ears were perked high, straining for any sound, and Accalia was asleep on his back. Her white-knuckled grip on his nape had loosened, and now her head was slumped ungracefully over Hzrathgur's broad back. Her blonde hair was still pulled back in a plait, but it was loose and needed to be redone. The purple cloak that Lord Elrond had given her so long ago was now slightly worse for wear, fraying at the edges and there was a thin spot neat her left shoulder blade.

The sliver of moon still visible smiled down on them, but it was quickly obscured by the dark clouds that passed overhead. It was a perfect night for traveling, really - quiet and calm, and even with the overcast sky Hzrathgur smelled no rain. His black eyes were half closed, appearing lazy, but in reality every sense was on high alert. This was a Rider's most vulnerable time - when they put their trust, their full trust, in their mount. It was now up to Hzrathgur to protect her fully while her consciousness slipped from her own mind. He had nudged her mind earlier that evening, and discovered she had been dreaming about that good-for-nothing elf.

He gave a wolfish smile as he loped forward, the gentle rocking motion keeping Accalia asleep. She really was head-over-heels in love with that prince. Hzrathgur sighed to himself - there was no stopping his Rider when she put her mind to something. Softly she stirred on his back, shifting her position a fraction, and her grip loosened even more. Only her instinct told her to keep her knees locked firmly on Hzrathgur's sides. Actually, it was an old Rider training method - having young Riders fall asleep on their mount and stay riding. Accalia had been one of the very few who had perfected it.

The decaying stench of blood drifted seductively past Hzrathgur's nostrils, and he stopped immediately. His muzzle flared as he drank in the metallic stench that would be horrifying to any human. However, it wasn't the pure blood of a deer or a fox - this was the thick, sticky blood of a Uruk. His ears snapped back on his head and he growled low in his throat.

Accalia sat up, rubbing her eyes, when she felt Hzrathgur growl. **What is it?** she asked, blinking hard. Hzrathgur didn't answer for a moment, but dipped his head to the ground and began sniffing loudly.

**Uruk-hai.** He snarled. **A full battalion, by the smell of them.**

**A full battalion?** Accalia asked, alarmed. **Where the devil are they going?**

He took a few steps forward, sniffing the ground intently, and then his head came up and his ears stood erect on his head. Another growl rippled down his muzzle, and his savage black eyes slitted dangerously. **They are but a few hours ahead of us. Shall we ride with haste, little one, and catch them?**

Accalia pondered this. It would be satisfyingly good to hack a few Uruk-hai to death, but she had to keep going to Fangorn Forest. She was about to tell this to Hzrathgur when he barked loudly, the noise echoing through the gorge they were in. **Accalia, they are headed straight for the river!**

Panic, raw and bitter, filled Accalia to her core. They were heading for Frodo and the Ring - of course! How could she have been so stupid? She dug her heels hard into Hzrathgur's sides, and he shot forward like an arrow from a sling, leaping neatly over low bushes and small streams. Her grip reengaged on his nape, and she urged him forward. Mentally she was kicking herself. How could she have just abandoned the ring-bearer like that? Her father would never have made a mistake like that. He would have accompanied the One Ring to Mount Doom to ensure of it's destruction. Kluamin alone had been the Rider who objected to the making of the Ring.

Hzrathgur raced through the plains, the dry grass whipping against his paws and against Accalia's boots and calves. The stiff night breeze blew back Accalia's hood, and she felt the brisk wind pat some color into her cheeks. Her steely gray eyes blazed with rage at herself and at the Uruks. She would never allow them to hurt Frodo. She would Ride Hzrathgur to the ground if she had to, and when he collapsed she would continue on foot. All her life she had dedicated herself to protecting Frodo and Bilbo - now, when he needed her most, she was gone.

**OoooOoooO**

They rode all through the night and well into the next morning. By noon, Hzrathgur gave the weary conclusion that the Uruk-hai were traveling at exactly the same pace that they were. They paused at the mouth of a rushing stream, and Hzrathgur inclined his head to drink deeply, washing away the foam that flecked his jaws. When his belly was half-way full of icy cold water, he turned to face Accalia.

**We cannot catch them, little one.** He said gently. Accalia's eyes hardened.

**We will have to try. I am not letting the Fellowship die that easily.** Accalia snapped. Hzrathgur bounded over the stream without another word, charging forward. His huge, thickly furred paws struck the earth like pistons, and his muscular legs, full of muscle and sinew, propelled the two of them forward until they could see the glittering river stretched out beneath them, sparkling in the bright sunlight. Their ears pricked up simultaneously - there was an occasional cry, and the clash of metal shrieking against metal. It was the unmistakable sound of a vicious battle.

They threw themselves down the hill, Accalia conforming her body low to Hzrathgur as they practically flew. When they reached the bottom Accalia unsheathed her swords and readied herself for another battle. She would die defending Frodo and the Fellowship, and so would Hzrathgur.

An Uruk popped out from behind a tree and Accalia sliced his throat neatly, disliking the feel of his black, hot blood spattering her face and neck. Hzrathgur took a swift chomp out of his neck as they passed, swallowing quickly. Despite the salty taste, Hzrathgur was willing to eat anything. He was ravenous, and a starving, angry wolf was perfect in battle. Accalia knew this, and that was the reason she had denied him food as they ran.

She heard a horn sounding, a full, rounded blast, and Accalia swiveled Hzrathgur over to the sound. It had to be that Gondorian man, Boromir, calling for help. Hzrathgur knocked a Uruk flat to the ground with his front paws and ripped his throat out, spraying thick black blood everywhere, and they continued.

The two of them burst into a clearing, and saw the rugged blonde man Accalia had seen earlier, the one they called Boromir. He was defending Merry and Pippin, his huge sword cleaving the Uruks viciously. Hzrathgur leaped over a fallen Uruk and dove for a juicy looking Orc, ripping his head clear off. Accalia's dual swords were flashing spears of metallic light, and she twirled them in her hands, fighting the Uruks with a speed and power borne only of champion Riders.

Then she heard it. The sickening **whump** of an arrow piercing a body. She heard Boromir cry out, and she slipped off of Hzrathgur, whirling around, her gray eyes alive with hate and malice. Accalia began whooping out Rider war cries as loud as she could, and she began battling her way over to Boromir and the two Hobbits.

It was no use.

Two more arrows struck Boromir, and she heard him groan slowly. She gave a heart-wrenching scream as a rusty scimitar sliced her shoulder neatly to the bone, and she stabbed one of her blades into the Orc who had sliced her. She was so close, but so far away.

There was a guttural snarl, and a path between Uruk-hai suddenly opened up as Hzrathgur plunged into the ranks, ripping limbs and biting necks. Disgusting bits of sinew and bone flew past Accalia's eyes, and she fought her way over to the reeling Gondorian who was impaled by three arrows. She dropped to her knees next to him as he rolled onto his back.

"Boromir!" she gasped, and her hand wrapped around the shaft of one of the arrows. He gripped her hand with a surprisingly firm grip, his calloused hand swallowing her smaller one.

"Don't." he rasped. "Aragorn…where's Aragorn…" he mumbled. Accalia glanced behind her, praying that Aragorn would come over the hill before the next wave of Orcs came.

"He's coming, Boromir. Hold on until then." she whispered in his ear. Then she kissed his forehead and began reverently reciting ancient Rider burial prayers, sending his soul on a speedy journey to Valar. "When you see my father," she breathed in his ear. "Give him my love, and say his daughter is being strong for him."

Boromir nodded weakly, and she could see his eyes glazing over. It was just then that Aragorn came over the crest of the small hill, slicing his sword at the Uruk's who were attacking him.

**OoooOoooO**

Aragorn watched as the small boat that held Boromir's body drifted down the current. Legolas's face was smeared with dirt and blood, and his eyes were coolly examining the ground. Kneeling, he touched his fingers to a huge wolf print that had embedded itself in the soft, piney soil.

"She was here." he murmured, almost to himself. "Accalia and Hzrathgur, they were both here."

Gimli nodded gruffly. "Aye. She's goin' after Frodo and Sam, methinks."

It was selfish of Legolas, he knew, but he wished desperately that she had waited just a few minutes to say goodbye. A few minutes, that's all that he wanted. He dropped his hand to his hip as he fingered the intricately carved dierk that Accalia had given him, painted with the purple lotus flower on the ivory hilt.

"You let Frodo go, then?" Legolas finally muttered, getting to his feet.

"Aye." Aragorn said.

"The Fellowship has failed, then." Gimli sighed.

"Not while Merry and Pippin are still in the hands of the Uruk-hai." Aragorn said grimly. "Let's hunt some Orc."

"Yes!" Gimli roared. Legolas gripped Accalia's throwing dierk tightly, his blue eyes growing icy cold and hard as he thought of the brutes who had kidnapped the two innocent Halflings.

"Yes." he growled in a voice very unlike his own. "Let's."


	9. Chapter Eight: Gollum

**A/N: * = my dearest.**

A damp heavy cloud hung over the Wilderland, shrouding the whole place in a gauzy veil of mist. Moisture clung to every surface, causing tendrils of fog to creep mysteriously over the huge boulders that scattered the land. Jagged fingers of rock jutted upwards from the stony earth, reaching towards the overcast sky. The clammy rocks slipped dangerously underneath Hzrathgur's heavy paws, and even his colossal paws could gain a purchase on the damp rocks. His paws slid treacherously over the dampened stones, and he growled in frustration. Accalia head him clench his jaws together, and she stroked the tips of his ears gently.

**These accursed Hobbits.** Hzrathgur snarled. **Why can't they follow the path like any normal creature?**

Accalia continued rubbing the edges of his soft ears, feeling the velvet tips between her forefinger and thumb. She felt his sinewy muscles relax marginally, but his jaws remained locked. **Because they were running for their lives,** Accalia soothed him tenderly. **And they thought they were being pursued by Uruk-hai. **

She heard Hzrathgur snort loudly, huffing a cloud of fine white mist into the chilly autumn air. His jaws loosened in his mirth. **Reason, from your lips, Accalia? It is like finding a pearl in a swine trough - most unusual.**

**Are you saying I'm not reasonable?** Accalia demanded playfully, ruffling the fur on his head.

**No, little Rider. I am saying you are an impulsive hothead who cannot control her temper. It is common at your age.** Hzrathgur teased. Accalia bit back a laugh.

**At my age? Hzrathgur, I'm almost four thousand years old. I'm hardly a teenager anymore, am I? **Accalia asked.

**Oh, but it's such a nice excuse. Everyone sympathizes with the rebellious puppy.** Hzrathgur laughed. Accalia dug her fingers lightly into the nape of his neck.

**Just remember, I'm the one in charge. **Accalia said mirthfully, egging him onwards with her heels. Hzrathgur picked his way around another slick boulder.

**How can I forget? You are no pixie, dearest Rider. **Hzrathgur teased. Accalia smiled and stroked his chest and she felt him relax some more.

**I have been losing weight,** Accalia insisted. **This infuriating journey with it's irregular mealtimes is robbing me of my hips. I feel like a skeleton.**

**Legolas doesn't seem to think so.** Hzrathgur said, his eyes focused on the ground ahead of him, his muzzle perfectly straight. Accalia rolled her eyes.

**We've been through this - he's a ****friend****. **Accalia said.

**Ah, and you go on moonlight swims with all of your friends, do you?** Hzrathgur inquired pleasantly. Accalia scowled.

**I'll have you know he was a perfect gentleman, **Accalia said snobbishly. **He barely even touched me. **

**Good, because if I even ****suspect ****otherwise…** Hzrathgur growled. Accalia soothed him once more by massaging his ears.

**You'll tear his legs off, I know, I know. **Accalia said, then she tensed. **What was that?**

Hzrathgur's muscles went taut, and his ears lay flat on his head. A snarl rippled his muzzle, and his soulless black eyes were scanning the damp boulders. They had both heard it at the same time - the patter of bare feet skidding over wet rocks. There was a guttural wheeze, and Hzrathgur began creeping forward, his gleaming white teeth bared in the moonlight. He let out a bark and pounced, pinning a miserable little bundle to the ground, his teeth inches from the little creature's face.

Accalia unsheathed her swords with the metallic noise that all blades make when they are rasping against leather. She crossed them at his neck, and studied the pathetic little man intently. His skin was chalky gray, and looked paper thin; his huge yellow eyes were bulbous and bugging out of his small skull, and the few wisps of black hair that straggled from his scalp were greasy and matted. Black nubs in his mouth must have been teeth at some point, and the only piece of clothing that he wore was a filthy loincloth. When he spoke, it was in a gasping pant that squeaked on the high notes.

"We no hurt the nice human!" he squealed, trying to get away. Hzrathgur growled, a rumbling snarl that started in his chest.

**Shall I crunch his face off?** Hzrathgur inquired dubiously. He sounded apprehensive to put this disgusting creature in his mouth.

**No, Hzrathgur, you might catch a disease.** Accalia said, wrinkling her nose involuntarily. She jabbed her blades at his neck, making the dirty little demon whine again.

"Who are you, and where do you come from?" Accalia asked, a vague memory twitching in the back of her mind. This awful little beast looked so familiar, but this mass of grime and sweat that was cringing in front of her was too ugly for words.

"We means no harm!" he whimpered, struggling with Hzrathgur's massive paws. "We liveses heres, all our lifes!"

"Then you know your way around these mountains?" Accalia asked. He nodded vigorously.

"We can lead you out of the mountains, nice human!" he sniveled. Accalia snorted.

"We're not lost, you miserable little wretch. I need to know if you've seen two Halflings pass this way - they would be no taller then you, with curly hair and packs on their backs. Have you seen them? Speak up!" Accalia thundered.

Something flickered in the little demon's eyes, but Accalia didn't catch it. "We sees no Hobbitses!" the demon squeaked. "No Hobbitses pass this way, not that we sees!"

**Let him up, Hzrathgur.** Accalia said, sighing. **We'll have to press on - I'm not abandoning Frodo and Sam out here with demons like these traipsing about.**

Reluctantly, Hzrathgur got off of the gray demon. He spared him a glance. **Tell him if he doesn't run as fast as he can away from us, I'll fill my belly with his miserable carcass. **Hzrathgur growled.

"Be gone, creature, otherwise I'll release Hzrathgur on your bones." Accalia warned obediently. The gray creature scuttled off quickly, nimbly maneuvering the slick rocks like a mountain goat.

**I don't like it, Hzrathgur.** Accalia murmured finally. **We should find Frodo and Sam before something else does. **

**That is what worries me, jamien*. **Hzrathgur said. **We cannot track anything in this fog and mist - it would be like tracking a fish in a stream. Nothing leaves prints on bare rock, unless we speak to the mountain itself - and I don't want you calling up the rock gods again. Your father nearly tore my head off when I allowed ****that**** to happen.**

**We won't call up any gods. **Accalia said softly. **But I despise abandoning them here in the dark, alone. They are only children in my eyes, even though Frodo's courage is great. I worry for him, Hzrathgur.**

**Worry not, Rider.** Hzrathgur purred. **He will survive; the stars speak of his success. **

**The stars speak of the ring being destroyed.** Accalia said irritably. **It has no mention of Frodo. Sauron could rise to power a hundred times over before what the stars say comes true.**

**You could ride hard and meet up with Legolas and the others.** Hzrathgur said temptingly. **If we race, we can reach them by sunset. **

Accalia tore her eyes away from the horizon and tousled Hzrathgur's golden fur. **You're trying to get me off of these mountains, aren't you? **She asked laughingly.

**I really hate this place.** Hzrathgur admitted. **The dampness makes my bones ache. **

Accalia smiled, and inwardly her heart soared at the thought of being reunited with Legolas. Doubtless he was feeling betrayed by not seeing her at the ford - she would have to rectify that. Hopefully his Elvish pride would be dampened for a moment, and she could make an apology whilst retaining some scrap of dignity. Riders, as a rule, hated to apologize, and Accalia was no exception.

Slowly, Hzrathgur and Accalia pointed themselves towards the plains of Aragoneth. Hzrathgur leaped forward, jumping cleanly over two wet boulders and they began their traitorous descent.

**OoooOoooO**

Aragorn closed his eyes and pressed his ear against a rock, listening closely. Hardly detectable vibrations thrummed in his ears, and his breath caught in his throat. "Their pace has quickened." he whispered to himself. "They must have caught our scent."

Ahead of him, Legolas scanned the horizon, hoping for some sign of Uruks or Accalia. A battle would take his mind off of the blonde rider, and if Accalia joined up with them, she would help fight off the Uruks. Either way, he needed something to take his mind off of things. He turned around and saw the ruddy-faced dwarf staggering up the hill, his breath coming in wheezes.

"Hurry up, Gimli!" Legolas snapped. Gimli used his battle axe as a walking stick and stumbled up the hill.

"Three days and three nights…" he panted. "No food, no rest. No sign of our quarry except what bare rock can tell!" after that, he left out a stream of Dwarfish curses, and tumbled down the hill.

They continued on, loping over the grassy hills, until Aragorn dropped to his knees. Legolas, fearing his friend was truly exhausted, quickened his pace to catch up with him and watched him pick up a crushed metal leaf clip. It was a cloak clasp, one of the many Lady Galadriel had given to the Fellowship. "Not idly do the leaves of Lothlorien fall." Aragorn breathed.

"They may yet be alive." Legolas said, daring to allow hope to prick at his heart. He turned and bellowed for Gimli to hurry, and they resumed their frantic race to find their Hobbit friends.

**OoooOoooO**


	10. Chapter Nine: Fangorn Forest

The weak sunlight filtered through the clouds, breaking the heavy cloud cover into jagged pieces. As the feeble sunlight trickled through the banks of gray clouds, it revealed what last night's torrent of rain had done to the already bleak landscape. The bland looking grass lay trampled under the weight of rain that had poured down upon the plains, and the scant trail the three companions had been following was almost completely gone, except for the odd print that had been sheltered by a craggy boulder. Legolas tensed, and his pointed ears pricked up hopefully. He heard an irregular thumping, and his icy blue eyes strained to see anything. Then, bursting over the crest of the hill, half a battalion of Rohan Riders stampeded down the hill, the horse's coats damp with morning dew and foam flecking their muzzles.

"Riders of Rohan! What news from the mark?" Aragorn shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard over the rolling thunder of hooves that struck the earth with dull thumping sounds. In unison, fifty horses wheeled around, encircling them. Dangerous looking lances were gleaming dully in the watery sunlight, sporting fresh blood stains that bespoke of a hard night of battle. The lances lowered and pointed at the three companions.

"What business does a man, an elf, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?" a scornful voice asked. It came from a heavily armored man on a bay horse, a black horsehair plume on his helmet, bespeaking of royalty and the leader of the Riddermark. His lance was at his side, but Aragorn noted his hand was straying slowly to the sword at his hip.

"Give me your name, horse master, and I shall give yeh mine." Gimli grunted, his auburn beard twitching in annoyance. The man who had spoken slid neatly off his horse and unsheathed his sword. It still wore marks of a recent battle, and it made it quite intimidating, especially when the tip of it was at your neck, as Gimli was.

"I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground." the horse master growled. Legolas, in an unexplained fit of anger, notched an arrow to his bow with alarming speed and aimed it directly at the horse master. His cobalt eyes were hard, bitter chips of chilly ice, and his knuckles were white with strain. All of the bloodied lances edged closer to them, and Aragorn had to push several away from his neck.

"You would die before your stroke fell!" Legolas snarled, his eyes dark and flashing. Aragorn put a restraining hand on his friend's bow and pointed the arrow towards the ground. With a murmured scolding, Aragorn forced Legolas to put his arrow back in his quiver, then he addressed the horse master.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and this is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and leader of the woodland realm." Aragorn said slowly. "We are friends of Rohan, and of your king, Theoden."

Something passed in front of the horse master's eyes, and he pulled off his helmet. Long, tangled blonde hair tumbled out, and his striking gray eyes and handsome features came into view. When he spoke, his voice was layered with a tangible note of bitterness and nostalgia. "Theoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." he said softly. The lances that had been inanely close to the companion's necks withdrew reluctantly at a signal from Lord Eomer, for of course it was he. "Not even his own kin." he said finally, looking away.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company is of those who are still loyal to Rohan; for that, we are banished." Eomer halted, and then his gray eyes glared at Legolas directly. "The White Wizard is cunning. He goes here and there they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked. And everyday his spies slip past our nets." he added with a final glare to Legolas.

Aragorn felt his friend's body go taut at Legolas was accused silently of being a spy. He noted his Elvish friend's hands creeping dangerously close to one of his ivory daggers, and he spoke quickly to soothe his friend's suddenly developed temper. "We are not spies." Aragorn said firmly. "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plains. They have taken two of our friends captive."

"The Uruk's are destroyed. Our party slaughtered them in the night." Eomer said, a subtle note of pride edging his voice. No doubt he was thankful of their swift victory, but his eyes saddened when Gimli spoke up.

"But there were Hobbits! Did you see two Hobbits with 'em?" the dwarf asked desperately, all former annoyance gone.

"They would be small, only children to your eyes." Aragorn said, his dark green eyes flashing. Eomer looked away, his jaw tightening apologetically.

"We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them." he said, gesturing over to the north where a plume of yellowish smoke was rising lazily in the sky.

"Dead?" Gimli asked hoarsely, his throat suddenly very dry. All of this for naught?

"I am sorry." Eomer said softly, genuine sympathy crowding his words. His gray eyes lost some of their chill as he said this. When no one spoke, he whistled sharply. "Hasufel! Arod!"

Two horses were brought forward, and he handed the reins to Aragorn. "May these horses bring you better luck then their former masters." he said gently. Eomer swung himself back into the saddle and put his helmet back on his head. "But do not trust to hope," he added grimly. "It has forsaken these lands."

With a signal from Lord Eomer, the horses plunged off, kicking up chunks of mud from the soft earth. The three companions stood there for a moment, stunned into silence, unsure as to what to do. Aragorn fiddled with the reins, his heart aching with bitterness, a lump lodged solidly in his throat.

"I am sorry for the loss of your friends." a voice said from above them. All three heads snapped up, and three pairs of hands automatically reached for their weapons. When they saw who it was, all of them visibly relaxed, and all of their mouths dropped open in surprise.

Hzrathgur was standing on top of a rock, sunlight framing his solidly muscular form. Accalia was sitting atop him, her silver eyes soft with concern and sadness, her purple cloak dampened at the hem with mud and dew. Legolas noted with something like pride and a strange emotion he could not identify that she was still wearing his bow. The top of it was actually worn slightly where she had fingered it.

"Yeh certainly pick yer times fer swoopin' in fer a visit, lass." Gimli said gruffly, but he was glad to see the beautiful Rider. Accalia swung herself off of Hzrathgur's back and the two of them descended slowly.

Accalia glanced at Legolas. A strange array of emotions was flickering rapidly across his face. Sadness, happiness, anger, and a look that she couldn't understand. Then she tore her gray eyes from the handsome elf and looked at Aragorn. It was the first time she had looked at him with something other then disdain or anger. "We should go to them." she murmured.

"Accalia." Legolas said softly. She turned to him, her eyes looking slightly ashamed. She fidgeted, toying with the hem of her cloak, then she raised her gaze to him.

"I wanted to see you, Legolas, I truly did." she said softly. "But I had to go after Frodo and Sam to ensure their safety."

"And did you?" Legolas asked. She was surprised at the raw betrayal in his voice. Her temper threatened to raise it's head, but with a great effort, she beat it back into submission.

"No. I lost them over the mountain range." she admitted. "I fear for their safety. We met a few of the inhabitants of that mountain range - they aren't friendly."

Aragorn climbed onto Arod and settled his feet into the stirrups. "I'm going to see if they survived." he said quietly. "They may yet be alive."

"Do not put too much faith in your feelings, Aragorn." Accalia warned. Aragorn noted this - it was the first time she had ever called him by his name. "They are apt to betray you."

Gimli got boosted on Hasufel by Accalia, and Legolas stood uncertainly, his heart telling him to ride with Accalia but his mind telling him - sharply - that he should ride with the dwarf, irksome though he was. Accalia smiled, and touched his elbow lightly. "Ride with Gimli, Legolas." she murmured. "Hzrathgur and I will follow you."

Legolas nodded decisively and slid onto Hasufel with Gimli, taking the reins in his hands. He had rarely ridden a horse with a saddle and bridle before, and he distantly wondered if it was uncomfortable for the horse.

**It is, Prince.** a deep voice boomed in his head. **On occasion, I have been known to be saddled and bridled. Only for formal parties, you understand, but to answer your question - yes, it is distinctly unpleasant.**

**Do you always do that?** Legolas thought back irritably, not in the mood to have another stay-away-from-Accalia speech.

**I have been known to startle humans.** Hzrathgur admitted. The two horses took off, Hzrathgur easily keeping pace with him, his long legs covering twice the distance the horse's could. However, seeing this, he checked his stride so Accalia and Legolas could stay near each other. Legolas noticed this.

**You changed your mind, then?** Legolas asked. Hzrathgur shot him a look that was poignant with displeasure and disapproval.

**My Rider has made up her mind. I am still not sure about you, Prince. I will risk repeating myself - stay away from my Rider. **Hzrathgur growled unexpectedly, and Accalia absently stroked the tips of his ears. Legolas watched how she rode; close to Hzrathgur's shoulder blades, her left hand buried in Hzrathgur's nape, her right hand resting on his head. Her knees dug into his sides, and her heels were hovering close to his hips in case a speedy sprint was called for.

They arrived at the still-smoking pile of corpses in a few minutes of riding. An Uruk's head had been hacked off and impaled grotesquely on a spike of wood that jutted upwards from the earth. A rotting stench of burning hair and flesh hung heavily in the air, and Accalia choked on the smoggy, stench-filled air. Hzrathgur's muzzle twitched in a disgusted expression. They all slipped off of their mounts and stared in shock at the awful scene in front of them.

A huge pile of halfway burned Uruks was in front of them, their leather armor smoking and sending up plumes of sickeningly yellow smoke. Hzrathgur began sorting through the pile of corpses, and Gimli used the shaft of his axe to toss charred limbs aside. Legolas stood there, swaying, his belly twisting unpleasantly as the smell rose to his nostrils. He felt someone take his hand, and he glanced over. Accalia was holding his hand firmly, and she regarded him with a pair of sad, somber eyes. They had none of their usual fire and spite in them; instead, there was only pity. He squeezed her hand, and they stood there as Gimli emerged with a broken leather belt in his hand.

"'Tis one of their wee belts." he whispered. Hzrathgur barked loudly, and began taking his frustration out on the burned corpses. Grilled flesh flew through the air as the huge wolf slashed angrily at the hapless bodies.

Aragorn kicked a helmet with his foot; there was a crunching noise as he undoubtedly broke several toes, and he dropped to his knees with a inhuman roar of pain and anguish. His head dipped towards his chest, and for a moment tears dewed his eyes. They had failed.

Accalia broke away from Legolas and stood above Aragorn. To everyone's surprise, the knelt and placed a hand on his shoulders. "Look, Aragorn." she said.

He did so, and his intense eyes caught what she was looking at. He leaned forward, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. "A Hobbit lay here." he whispered to himself. He crawled forward, his gloved hands hovering over the scant tracks that he was struggling to see. "They crawled." he said to himself.

Gimli and Legolas followed behind him carefully, unwittingly holding their breath as Aragorn began making sense of the minute details that were invisible to the Dwarf and the Elf. Accalia picked up a frayed, dirty rope that was spattered with blood and crusty with dirt. "Their hands were bound." Aragorn muttered, taking the rope from Accalia.

"They got to their feet…" he said, getting up and following the tracks. "And into Fangorn Forest." he finished, despair sinking his heart again. His hopes, which had risen in the few seconds that he had been tracking the marks, sank to ashes.

"Fangorn Forest? What madness drove them in there?" Gimli asked of thin air. Hzrathgur sniffed the wind, his liquid black eyes half closing as he took in the scents.

**Treebeard is expecting you, Accalia. he growled in her mind. Accalia ignored him. **

"**I'm coming with you." she said decisively. They all swiveled to look at the blonde Rider, and when she caught them all looking at her she lifted her chin defiantly in a gesture they all recognized. Aragorn never thought he'd be grateful to see her defiant. "I owe it to Merry and Pippin, after all." she said softly. Then she glanced, almost imperceptibly, at Legolas. "And I need to speak with the ents in Fangorn." she said. **

"**Why?" Legolas asked curiously. Accalia looked away. **

"**If it ever comes to war, I need to know if they'll be on the Rider's side." she said. Aragorn shot her a look as they began advancing into the dank, dripping treeline of Fangorn Forest. **

"**And what side will the Riders be on?" Aragorn asked aloud. Accalia glared at him. **

"**I have never liked your tone, Ranger." she snapped, her irritability coming back in a rush. "The Riders will be on the side of the Elves, that much is for certain. If the Elves refuse to fight, we will side with the Dwarves. If they also refuse, our last chance will be with the Men. Never will I allow my people to side with Sauron - he killed too many of our kind to be let off lightly. He deserves to be slaughtered." she finished, spitting on the ground. **

**They entered Fangorn with little hope of finding their friends, Hzrathgur leading, Gimli bringing up the rear. Legolas looked at Accalia, and their eyes met. They knew they forgave each other, and with a nod that nobody else noted, they continued into Fangorn.**

**Together.**


End file.
